Gospel Story Finder

It’s 6:00 p.m. at the Yoshida family’s natural health products store in El Paso, Texas—time to close for the day. Julio and Gabriela, with help from their children, wait on their last customers, tidy up, and prepare to head home.

As different as the Hernandez and Yoshida businesses are from each other, they have something important in common. They owe their success, at least partially, to principles taught through the Church’s self-reliance initiative.

“If you make the principles of self-reliance the basis of your business, it will grow,” says Julio Yoshida. “It will become stronger and more stable. The self-reliance program also made me stronger and more positive. I find greater meaning in my work and more opportunities when I apply these principles.”

When the Yoshidas opened their business in 2016, Julio was serving as their ward’s bishop. Both money and time were tight.

“When you start a business, you have to be prepared economically and mentally because you might not have a lot of income at first,” says Gabriela Yoshida. “We didn’t suffer any losses when we opened, but our income fell short of what we were accustomed to because we were investing so much in the business. We had to tighten our belts and adjust our budget. We guarded each dollar that went out.”

In 2017, Gabriela, in charge of their family finances, attended a Personal Finances for Self-Reliance course. Julio, in charge of their business finances, took the Starting and Growing My Business course. He says that learning to use financial resources more wisely—both at home and at work—was paramount.

“I became better organized in what we bought and sold,” he says. “I made sure we moved old merchandise first and newer merchandise later. We began purchasing with better efficiency. We eventually got rid of stuff we didn’t sell. We also applied what we learned to our advertising.”

To determine the effectiveness of their advertising, they surveyed new customers to find out how they had heard about the business.

“We advertised on two TV stations, one in English and one in Spanish,” says Gabriela. “Given that many of our clients speak Spanish, we were surprised to learn that the station in English worked better for us.”

Julio Yoshida and his daughter Martha wait on customers at their family business.

That principle also blessed the Yoshida family.

“We didn’t think we had enough money to save any, but we said, ‘We must have a savings, come what may,’” says Gabriela. “So, we started saving, though it was only a small amount each month.”

During the first three years that they ran their business, the Yoshidas worked hard, saved, and sacrificed. Their children also helped at the store.

“We all worked in the family business, and we didn’t have any rest for three years,” says Sister Yoshida. “We had two children serving missions, and there wasn’t money for a vacation. We just kept saving until finally we could all enjoy a summer vacation together. We deserved it!”

It can take a while for a start-up business to begin making money and for a family to build up a savings, but for the Yoshida, Hernandez, and Vasquez families, embracing inspired principles has brought them blessings.

“It’s very important that we pay our tithing,” says Brother Yoshida. “We have had some tight times, but we have always remembered to live this law, and the Lord has blessed us greatly. We are self-reliant. That’s what we wanted.”

Many years ago, I went on a double date. My friend Beth was on a date with a young man named Shawn (these are not their real names!). As we approached Beth’s house, she said, “Keoni, just slow down, I’ll jump out. You don’t need to stop.”
It took me a moment to process what she was saying, I didn’t know Beth was the adventurous type that liked jumping out of moving cars! After a puzzled moment, I brought the car to a complete stop in front of her house.
As I came to stop, Beth opened her door, said a quick goodbye, and bolted into her house.
Shawn sat in the car, perplexed, wondering out loud, “What just happened!?!?”
Obviously, Beth was feeling anxious about the end of the date and Shawn and Beth had not communicated to determine a mutually understood way for the date to end.
The end of any date, good or bad, can create anxiety as the goodbye may include the expectation of some kind of physical interaction. Any physical expression of affection or romantic interest, such as holding hands, an embrace, or a kiss should be preceded by clear communication and affirmative consent.
Affirmative consent must be informed, voluntary, and active, meaning that, through the demonstration of clear words or actions, a person has indicated permission to engage in mutually agreed-upon physical interaction.
The absence of a “no” does not mean “yes” and consent on one occasion does not mean consent can be assumed from that time forth.
Shawn and Beth would have benefitted greatly from more communication and a better understanding of how to seek and give consent. Imagine this scenario unfolding a bit differently.
Shawn could have noticed Beth was looking uncomfortable. For goodness sake, she was ready to jump out of a moving car to avoid the end of this date!
Shawn should have realized she had some concern about how the date would end and initiated a conversation to understand how she was feeling. Sensing that, he could have said, “Beth, would it be ok if I walked you to the door and kissed you goodnight?”
Beth might have replied, “You can walk me to the door, but let’s leave it at that. I don’t want more than that.”
And Shawn could have replied saying, “I understand, I am happy to just walk you to the door.”
That might sound difficult, but I promise this conversation is far less awkward than what I observed!
In this scenario, Shawn is demonstrating respect for Beth by seeking to understand both her body language and verbal communications. He then ensures proper boundaries for his behavior. After communicating his interest, he honors her choice not to reciprocate.
Perhaps some of you empathize with Beth. To that point, I want to be clear, you do not owe anyone any amount of physical affection for taking you out on a date.
Seeking affirmative consent is a natural outcome of good communication and Christ-like treatment of others. Affirmative consent protects each of us from a variety of harmful outcomes.

Elder Gérald Caussé (France): In our family we have decided that Christmas is not just about having fun together, but it is also about focusing on Christ and serving others. About 10 years ago we formed a choir of family members. We went to hospitals and retirement homes and sang Christmas songs. At first it was a small group. We had babies in our arms and in strollers. But now these babies have grown up, and they are seasoned choristers. We have a 44-person choir sharing not only traditional French carols but also Church hymns, and we find great success. After singing, the children go and distribute to the sick or elderly little presents we have prepared as a family. We try to have time with each person, talking about the true meaning of Christmas and also listening to him or her. Everyone always has a lot to share.
Our visits are special occasions to remember what we know about being a Christian and bearing the name of Christ. Christmas is a good reminder of how we need to behave during the whole year.

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
How come you’re my friend?
Huh?
Well, I can’t run or ride bikes and stuff. And some people have trouble understanding me when I talk.
Yeah, I had trouble at first. But—I dunno—when I listened, it got easier. I guess I like your funny jokes. And we like a lot of the same stuff.
Game time’s over. How about a sandwich?
So how come you’re my friend?
I guess it started when those guys were picking on me and you stood up for me.
Then we talked. And I got to know you. And, well, I figure anybody who has a rubber chicken for a pet …
… needs at least one real friend.
I’m his pet?! I thought he was mine.

The immigrant’s youthful eyes shifted to Mosiah Twiggs, the big, bearded Mormon who had rescued him that fateful night. Waves of love and gratitude rolled up the shores of Lao Moy’s sore heart and washed away his tears.
Mosiah, too, had been ensnared by dreams of gold, so he left the Salt Lake Valley settlement in ’49 to fall prey to the same misfortune that had beset so many others—empty pockets and broken dreams.
After his father’s death, Lao Moy had agreed without misgivings to return with Mosiah to Salt Lake City, feeling a loyalty to the soft-spoken stranger who had risked his life to save someone he didn’t even know.
It had been a hazardous journey by wagon from the goldfields of California to the Salt Lake Valley, and they had encountered countless perils. But Mosiah’s promise that the God of Israel would protect them had planted the seeds of a testimony in the boy’s heart. Lao Moy wondered about this man who dutifully paid 10 percent of his earnings to his church for tithing.
Yet standing in the way of Lao Moy’s spiritual progress was that old bitterness born in the goldfields. It crouched like a great beast over his peace and challenged his moments of newfound joy. He had long wished to rid himself of it, to strike out against it, but something or someone always seemed to stand in the way.
Mosiah gazed curiously in the direction of the boy’s unbroken stare. “Autumn leaves die beautifully, don’t they, Lao Moy?” he said, his face lifted into the leaf-spattered wind.
“Yes,” answered Lao Moy, his hurtful thoughts suddenly scattered by his guardian’s grand vision. Autumn was indeed a beautiful time of year, especially in the canyons. Lao Moy’s eyes raced up the huge, yellow red chasms with renewed excitement. He loved these mountains. Mosiah had told him many times about them. How the erosion of long ages had cut deep canyons. How huge glaciers, descending with unyielding power, had broken loose and carried countless boulders, many of goliath size, down the immense mountain furrows. It was these isolated blocks, called erratics, that provided the supply of building stones for the Salt Lake Temple.
In these canyons, Mosiah, Lao Moy, and many other faithful Saints worked tirelessly to divide the boulders with hand drills, wedges, and low-power explosives. The rough blocks were then transported by oxteam—four yoke required for each block—and every trip was a difficult three- or four-day journey to the temple site some twenty miles away.
Mosiah touched Lao Moy’s shoulder and brought him out of his reverie. “I’m going to set off the blast, Lao Moy,” he cautioned, and then shouted a warning to the nearby workers. Mosiah lit the fuse and sprinted with Lao Moy for cover.
Two other workmen held a team of oxen. One of them was fourteen-year-old Corey Atwood. Corey, a tough, stout boy, had long taken pleasure in cruelly funning Lao Moy because of his broken English, his long queue (braid), and his quiet and obedient ways. It was often Corey who kept Lao Moy’s bitterness alive, but the Chinese boy had held it all inside, even when the troublesome Corey had once grabbed Lao Moy’s queue and threatened to cut it off with a knife.
The blast erupted like the sound of cannon fire over a Virginia cottonfield, and the big piece of granite split in two. Cheers went up, and Mosiah scrambled up the rocks to view his accomplishment. Lao Moy started up, too, but was soon held fast by Corey, who held onto his queue.
“What’s the matter, Lao Moy,” he chuckled, “somebody got your tail?”
Suddenly something exploded inside Lao Moy with no less force than Mosiah’s dynamite blast. He turned and struck Corey in the face so hard that the big boy was lifted off his feet and thrown backward in front of the team of oxen. The wide-eyed Atwood looked as surprised as Lao Moy. He wiped at the blood on his mouth and started to lift himself up when a clap of thunder suddenly boomed. As the already spooked oxen lurched forward, Lao Moy sprang for Corey and rolled him out of the path of pounding hooves and grinding wheels.
For a long moment the two boys just lay there, staring at each other. Finally, a smile broke across Corey’s dusty, blood-smeared face. Lao Moy smiled back, and all the old bitterness in his heart seemed to melt away like ice in a summer sun. A new peaceful feeling assured him it would not return.
Lao Moy was forty-five years old when the Salt Lake Temple was finally dedicated on April 6, 1893; Mosiah, seventy-six; and Corey Atwood, forty-seven. Corey sat close beside Lao Moy as President Wilford Woodruff offered the dedicatory prayer. A friendship had grown between them, a friendship as strong as the temple granite they had helped to cut. And like that granite, it would last forever.

Today is one of those days when getting out of bed is nothing but a trial. Six o’clock is just too early for any sane soul to be up. Even the birds aren’t yet awake! And besides, it’s Sunday—a day when I should be resting from my labors. But I have to go to work, and needless to say, I’m not thrilled. But I’ll go, grudgingly. Just let me sleep ten more minutes.
My name is Jana, and that is the attitude I had on that certain Sunday morning. Even though I love my work as a nurse at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, I just wasn’t in the mood to be there.
I staggered into the hospital promptly at 7:05; I was supposed to arrive at 7:00. Seeing the time on the clock in the hall, I panicked and pushed the elevator button several times, only to see that the elevator was on the fifth floor and not coming down. No time to waste. I ran up the six flights of stairs. By the time I reached the top, I was exhausted—huffing and puffing, my heart pounding in my ears in rebellion against the sudden exertion. I was relieved to know that I was in a hospital and if I had a heart attack, someone could save me.
I dragged myself down the hall, passing the clerk who looked up from her work and said without emotion, “They’ve started without you.” I smiled and stumbled into the report room where all the other nurses were gathered, none of whom glanced up at me. And even if they had done so, it wouldn’t have mattered. I was still alive, and that was all I cared about.
In the meeting I received a list of patients to care for and instructions for the day. Several patients were assigned to me, each with special problems and needs. I had baths to give, bed linens to change, equipment to monitor, temperatures to check, food trays to deliver, charting to do, medications to administer, bandages to change, tubing to check, sore muscles to rub, and to top it all off, doctors to please. I had no choice but to dig right in. Unfortunately, the work was not going to get done by itself.
In the midst of all the hubbub, a voice came over the intercom, “Any patient who would like to go to church, please notify your nurse.” Oh yes, I had almost forgotten; it was Sunday. I asked each of my patients if they wanted to attend the short half-hour meeting. No one seemed interested; most were too ill or too tired. That was how I felt too. Only one little lady, Mrs. Whitmer, an arthritis and bone cancer patient, answered my question with a quiet yes. This dear woman—who was confined to bed and in pain with every movement, every touch—desired to attend the meeting.
I requested that Mrs. Whitmer be wheeled to church in her bed. Then without delay, I hurriedly prepared her for the trip, combing her hair, washing her face, and changing her gown and bed linen. She grimaced with pain at every move, but she never uttered a word of complaint. No sooner had I finished sprucing her up than the brethren came for her, and off she went. I turned my attention to other patients without giving her another thought.
The day progressed, and finally my shift was over. I could relax! Before leaving duty I checked once more on the patients who had been under my care. Mrs. Whitmer had long since returned from church and was resting calmly—and so was everyone else, thank goodness. As quickly as I had sprinted to work that morning, I sprinted back to my apartment, ending another working day.
A few days later when I was working the evening shift, just as I was ready to sign off, the call light went on in room 4. “Oh boy,” I thought. “Why do they wait until I’m ready to leave before they call for me?” But I really didn’t mind. I went down the hall and groped my way through the darkness to the patient’s bedside. It was Mrs. Whitmer.
“Jana?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
She reached out and gently took my hand. In a quiet, quivering voice she said, “I just wanted to thank you for helping me get to church last Sunday. I haven’t been for awhile because I’ve been so ill, and you’ll never know how much it meant to me that day to go. When I partook of the sacrament …” There was a long pause; then in trembling words she continued: “I felt God’s Spirit, and I just knew that Christ is my Savior.” And with that she began to cry. I realized that I too was shedding some tears. This beautiful woman, as weak as she was, was stronger than I had ever been. She had a glowing testimony.
I couldn’t help but recall the times when I had only gone to church out of habit, never partaking of the Spirit, though I always partook of the bread and water. I also recalled the Sunday when I prepared Mrs. Whitmer for church and how hurriedly I had done so, as if it were a burden on me. Never would I feel that way again.
The two of us cried together that night, only for a few minutes, but it was long enough to share our souls. No other words were spoken; none needed to be. The tears and the touch of our hands had said it all.
I no longer live in Salt Lake, and I don’t know what happened to Mrs. Whitmer, but I’ll never forget her and her radiant testimony of Christ.

For years, I have wanted to create a large poppy display and in November of last year, I voiced this to our Relief Society president, Yvonne Kerr, who expressed a similar desire. Because we were coming to the close of a horrible year of lockdowns, we felt that setting this up as a project for 2021 would be an ideal time to do it as it would give us something to focus on while we were restricted to our homes and by giving us a common purpose, we would not feel so isolated. Little did we know at that point that we were heading into further lockdowns and this project became a lifeline for many women. The culmination of this work was to be a display at the chapel where we would hold a special commemorative meeting, to which we would invite community leaders as well as our members and friends.
Yvonne asked me to pull a small committee together to make this happen and I knew exactly who to ask.
Esther Wilford became our internal communications director, whose job it was to keep the sisters and ward members updated with our progress. When she relocated out of our ward, we enlisted Julie Beveridge who also did a wonderful job.
Yvonne Kerr acted as our external communications director. She sent out all the external invitations to official delegates, war veterans and medal holders to attend our event.
Mandy Watson acted as the technical and structural engineer (to ensure the large display was stable). The fact that the structure is so sound is very much down to Mandy’s skills and hard work. Part of the display was the silhouette of a soldier. Mandy built all the framework and did all the sealing to make it waterproof before spending many hours as doing several coats of undercoat and paint. She really needs to be acknowledged more for her role in it all. I had the idea and vision, but she engineered the whole thing. Mandy has lots of experience with making sure structures and frameworks are safe and secure and we would need her skills when it came to putting the display together. Mandy is in the middle of restoring a very large, old house and so many of the materials that went into the framework and structure of the display came from her home—from the netting holding the poppies to the cobblestones that weigh the stands down, to the scaffolding outriggers used to stabilize the frame.
I had the easy task of chairing the committee and acting as a wool merchant and distributor. Because we commenced the project during a four-tier lockdown in Scotland, no one could get out to buy wool so I bought in bulk then coordinated with individuals, finding safe ways to deliver and distribute.
Thirty women made and contributed poppies. Because we wouldn’t physically collect poppies from sisters, every four weeks, Esther, and then Julie, would send a request on various messaging platforms to ask how many poppies had been made since the last count. Sisters would relay this to me, and I would keep a tally in a small notebook. We were hoping to reach a total of 1,500 poppies, feeling we could do a nice, decent display with that amount. However, I soon had to keep a record using a spreadsheet because within no time at all we had by far exceeded our initial goal. By the week before the display went up, we had received a staggering 5,589 poppies!
3,592 were made by sisters from the Alloa Ward. Another 262 by sisters from other wards around the country.
There were 967 poppies made by a friend of one of our members and a further 692 made by others not of our faith based up and down the country who belong to a Facebook crafting group. There were also 76 that came from a nonmember relative of mine in Holland.
We were grateful to all 30 women who made and added to the total, but recognition should go to a committee member, Julie Beveridge, who made a very impressive 1,373 poppies herself.
A brother who gave plenty of help throughout the project, Eammon Brereton, made a ‘Lest We Forget’ sign as part of the display.
We estimate that thousands of hours were spent by so many in the preparations for this event but they all felt that this truly has been a labour of love.
Other neighbour and local companies contributed the steel and used their equipment to cut out the soldier’s gun, others donated tenting fabric, and super heavy-duty guy pegs from rebar. A kind and generous benefactor donated £200 for the making of the soldier. A self-employed contractor came to the building on the final day of construction, and when he saw that we were rapidly running out of time, took the afternoon off to help us with some of the wire tethering and knocking in ground spikes.
On 22 October we held an outside lighting up ceremony, conducted by Sister Yvonne Kerr. Besides members of the ward, we had in attendance invited guests who included the lord lieutenant of Clackmannanshire, Lt Col (Retd) Johnny Stewart, and the most senior member of the Alloa Ward, Sister Dorothy Kendall, who pushed a button that lit up the monumental display. Esther Wilford beautifully sang Vera Lynn’s “When The Lights Go on Again, All over The World” and “I Vow to Thee My Country”. One of our Primary children, Emma Black, read the much-quoted lines from ‘For the Fallen’ by Laurence Binyon. People passing stopped to join the crowd, inside and outside of the fencing surrounding the grounds.
We tried to give each poppy its own space to clearly represent an individual. There are varying shades of red and a myriad of patterns, symbolizing the differences in those individuals who, all together have made a huge difference for each of us.
Just before the button was pressed to illuminate the display, we acknowledged to the assembled crowd, many who were not members of our Church, that as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we try to put Christ at the centre of all we do and it was in His name that on that night and during the season of remembrance, we honour those from World War I and World War II who fought and fell to give us our freedom, but the display also honours and gives reverence to those in the past and those who currently protect our land, shores, and skies from unseen enemies. They are the real heroes, and that really is what the display is about.
Yvonne Kerr, president of the Relief Society, said: “We really felt that there was a need for people who weren’t able to get together to be able to do something in unity. “It was a good way for the women of the Church to stay in contact with one another and to be able to serve and help other people.” She added: “As COVID started to progress, we really wanted to run with the idea, to be able to acknowledge that there were other people who had sacrificed a lot more than we got to sacrifice. We were very privileged to be able to acknowledge them by creating the poppies.”
Yvonne Kerr told the Advertiser: “It was very well attended. We were surprised by how many people came. It was really wonderful—a lovely event and a great tribute to those who served in our military services and a great way to thank them for what they’ve done for us.”

Many wonderful, humble women in the Church provide dedicated service without realizing the far-reaching impact their lives have—as examples of temporal service, but also as legacies of spiritual strength. One such woman is my grandmother, Cherie Petersen. She has served faithfully in quiet callings all her life. If you asked her, she would claim that she doesn’t have many talents to offer the world. However, as I have started to learn about her life, I’ve realized just how much her spiritual strength has affected my life.
Cherie’s parents stopped attending church and divorced when she was still very young, so she grew up with a mother, Florence, who was always working. Florence had been neglected as a child, as she was raised in a boarding school while her mother, Georgia, lived a worldly life. In spite of the challenges in her upbringing, Cherie remained active in the gospel, faithfully attending church with her great-grandmother Elizabeth’s family or with friends. She saw in their families what she wanted for her own. She didn’t know exactly what a family should be like, but she knew what it shouldn’t be, and she was determined to have her future family be different.
Cherie’s husband—my grandpa Dell—once told me, “To have a testimony, you have to want it. Cherie always wanted a testimony.” Though their early years of marriage were filled with struggles, they were determined to remain strong as a family. They were less active during the first year of their marriage because of Dell’s work schedule, but a call to serve in the Primary prompted Cherie to begin attending, and Dell soon joined her at church as a deacons quorum advisor. They’ve both been active and strong in the Church ever since. Cherie’s willingness to serve and determination to raise a strong family helped my mother become the strong woman she is, and my mother’s example has helped define my life, especially as I now start my own family.
My grandmother’s righteous decisions have impacted her family generations past what she could see as a young woman. However, the spiritual influence of the women in my family stretches even farther back. Cherie gained much of her own spiritual strength from observing her great-grandmother (my third great-grandmother) Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s example of faith and testimony reached past two generations of inactivity to help her great-granddaughter Cherie reverse a trend of broken families and return to the Church.

Upon graduation from PathwayConnect, acceptance into BYU-Idaho’s online bachelor’s program brought renewed concerns. The unexpected loss of my job caused some financial hardship, which left me with no means to afford tuition and essential course materials. Depleted savings increased my worries, yet I knew that quitting school was not an option. As President Dieter. F. Uchtdorf once said, “For members of the Church, education is not merely a good idea—it’s a commandment”.
Amidst fervent prayers and contemplation, I saw a post on LinkedIn by Matt Richards, who works at BYU-Pathway. He talked about the Hall Foundation Scholarship. It was like an answer to my prayers! This scholarship helped me pay for school and books, so I could keep studying. Its promise of financial support was a lifeline in my time of need. Securing the scholarship eased the burden of tuition and expenses, allowing me to focus on my academic pursuits. Even when things seemed tough, I learned to trust that help would come when I needed it most. With faith and help from above, I’m about to graduate. It’s been a journey full of ups and downs, but I know I’m not alone. There are miracles all around us, if we just keep believing.

In 1867, when Johanna Larsen Winters was 16 years old, she and her family left their comfortable home in Denmark to join with the Saints in Utah. It was a hard journey—hard to give up their home, and harder still to cross the plains on that long, tedious walk on foot.
One day, things went from hard to much worse in a hurry.
“We were camped on a large, open flat,” Johanna wrote. “The oxen were brought to camp as usual and yoked up, ready to start. We sang our morning hymn, and prayer was offered by Brigham Young Jr., the leader of our company. Just then we all noticed at a distance something like a small campfire that was in the direction we were to travel. The fire increased in size and the wind bore it right toward us.
“Captain Rice ordered the oxen unyoked and said, ‘we will sing again,’ and he offered up a prayer for our safety. The oxen were driven in the opposite direction for fear of a stampede as the fire was coming closer and we could feel heat.”
The danger was real and the pioneers didn’t exactly have any good options. They had to choose between the possibility of being trampled to death by frightened oxen or being trapped by a fire rushing ever closer. What could they do? What would you do?
“Brother Young stepped up on the highest part of a wagon tongue, raised his hand and said, ‘Brethren and sisters, stand still; we are not here to be destroyed.’ He stood still there; all at once he pointed to a little cloud not much bigger than a man’s hand. He said, ‘There is our deliverance.’
“At the same moment, there was a terrific peal of thunder, a flash of lightning, and rain poured down. We thanked the Lord for our deliverance, and we went on our way rejoicing.”

In a BYU-Idaho devotional given in May 2016 by Sister Sheri Dew called, “Will You Engage in the Wrestle?” she relates an experience she had in her twenties as she sought to increase her personal relationship with the Lord. Her friend asked if she had ever asked the Lord to teach her what it felt like when He was speaking to her. She said, “I hadn't. But that night, I began to ask the Lord to teach me the language of revelation.” Sister Dew recounts, “That was forty years ago, and over time I have come to know that what President Boyd K. Packer taught is true: That if all you know is what you see with your natural eyes and hear with your natural ears, then you will not know very much.’" She continues by telling us:
"Seekers have certain habits that are key to learning to communicate with God. For starters, they engage in the wrestle, meaning they work at it. They immerse themselves regularly in the scriptures, because the scriptures are the textbook for the Lord's language. They also work to be increasingly pure—pure in their heart and thoughts, pure in what they say, watch, read, and listen to. Purity invites the Spirit. And then, pure seekers listen."

Among the new members in Canada were many with relatives and friends in England. They wrote letters explaining their conversion and became anxious to bear their testimonies personally to their friends. The groundwork was already being laid for the spread of the gospel. Several months before Joseph Smith had fled from Kirtland, he had called Heber C. Kimball, Orson Hyde, Willard Richards, and four Canadian converts to open the British mission. They arrived at the port of Liverpool, England on July 20, 1837.
These missionaries contacted friends and relatives and then began to work generally among the people of England. After nine months of preaching—in churches whenever they could, in rented halls, or door to door—they counted nearly two thousand converts. Most of the elders returned home that spring,. leaving Canadian Joseph Fielding to preside over the mission, with Willard Richards (not yet an apostle) and William Clayton, a British convert, as counselors.

While living in Puerto Rico several years ago, I had a home teaching partner who, like me, was a lifelong Church member and a returned missionary. Both of us were confident of our gospel knowledge. But we were taught an invaluable gospel lesson by an eight-year-old boy who did no more than exercise the simple faith we are all counseled to live by.
Bill and I had been assigned to home teach Sister Lambert. She was an older lady, one of the first members in Puerto Rico. But when her husband left her, she began to devote more time to her small business of selling plants and seeds. We saw her less and less often at church meetings and activities.
It also became more difficult to find her at home. However, Bill and I managed to visit her regularly. We showed up each month with specially prepared lessons and did our best to reactivate her, but nothing seemed to work. She said she had a strong testimony of the gospel, and yet she would not attend church.
One Sunday I called to see if Sister Lambert had arrived home early. When she answered the phone, I knew that Bill and I should visit her right away. But as luck would have it, Bill was away on a high council assignment.
My mind raced with ideas, but I dismissed them until the right one presented itself: I got Trent, my recently baptized son, to accompany me.
“Throw on a tie, Trent,” I directed. “You and I are going home teaching.”
He was surprised, but proudly grabbed his tie, looped it around his neck, and away we went.
On the way to Sister Lambert’s home, I felt inspired to have Trent give the message. So as I drove, I discussed the topic with him. By the time we arrived, he was ready.
I can still remember Sister Lambert’s smile when she greeted young Trent. After we had chatted awhile, Trent gave a beautiful lesson. We left feeling good about our visit.
A few weeks passed, and on the evening before fast Sunday, I reminded Trent of the goal he’d recently set to fast on fast days. I recounted the blessings that fasting brings and explained that a fast should have a purpose. “If it is a righteous desire,” I told him, “the Lord will help you make it a reality.”
“I know, Dad,” he replied. “I already have a special purpose for my fast.”
When we entered the chapel the next afternoon, I could hardly believe my eyes. She hadn’t come to church in a long time, but there she was—Sister Lambert.
It took us awhile, I thought, but Bill and I had finally gotten through to her. She had heard our messages and felt our concern after all.
Then, to let Trent, too, feel the thrill of the experience, I leaned over and whispered, “Aren’t you happy and amazed that Sister Lambert is here today? You helped, you know.”
His answer left me speechless. “I’m very happy, Dad,” he said, “but I’m not surprised. I fasted so that she would come back to church. I knew she’d be here today.”
I was grateful for the chance to see her life—and mine—touched by a child’s faith in fasting.

Ali smiled as she closed the last bright blue envelope. Her eighth birthday was next week! She had spent the whole morning making invitations for her birthday party.
“Ready to go?” Mom asked.
Ali nodded. They were taking an invitation to her friend Tiffany in the hospital.
“I think Tiffany will be glad to see you,” Mom said as she and Ali climbed into the car. “Her mom told me they had to shave off some of her hair for the surgery.”
Ali’s eyes got wide. “But school is starting soon! How can she go to school with no hair?”
“They didn’t shave off all her hair—just a little bit,” Mom said. “And taking care of our bodies is much more important than how we look.”
Ali ran her fingers through her own long hair. It almost reached her waist. “I feel sad for Tiffany.”
“That’s why we’re going to visit her,” Mom said. “It’s part of bearing one another’s burdens.”
Ali scrunched up her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“It means helping others when they are going through a hard time,” Mom said. “It’s something you’ll promise to do when you get baptized.”
Ali smiled. Her baptism was coming up! “So I guess helping Tiffany feel better is one way I can practice doing that?” she said.
“Yeah,” said Mom. “That’s a great way to think of it.”
When they got to the hospital, Ali followed Mom to Tiffany’s room. They walked down a long hallway with brightly painted walls and open doors. Inside the rooms, Ali could see children resting in big white hospital beds. Some of them didn’t have any hair.
Finally they got to Tiffany’s room. Tiffany was happy to see Ali.
Ali saw that Tiffany had a bandage on the side of her head. “How are you feeling?” Ali asked.
“Pretty good,” Tiffany said. “The doctor says the surgery went great.”
“Yay! I’m so glad you’re OK,” Ali said.
Then Ali held out a bright blue birthday invitation. “When you’re feeling better, I hope you can come to my birthday party! And maybe you can even come to my baptism.”
Tiffany gave Ali a big hug. “Thank you!”
When it was time to go, Ali walked back down the hallway with Mom. Ali noticed a poster hanging on the wall. It had a picture of a girl holding a long ponytail of her hair. She was smiling. The top of the poster said, “Donate Your Hair for Wigs.”
“Mom,” Ali said. “Can I do that?” She pointed to the poster.
Mom turned to read it. “But Tiffany doesn’t need a wig.”
“I know,” said Ali. “But there are lots of kids at the hospital who do!”
Mom smiled. “I think that’s a great idea.”
On the morning of Ali’s birthday party, Mom took Ali to get her hair cut. After lots of combing and snipping, Ali looked in the mirror. Now her hair reached just to her chin. She felt happy inside when she imagined a girl sitting in a hospital bed, putting on a wig made with some of Ali’s hair.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked.
“So happy that I made up a joke,” said Ali. “Want to hear it?”
Mom nodded.
“I’m getting a head start on my baptism promises!” Ali said with a laugh. She couldn’t wait to keep helping others bear their burdens.

In a sense, the most important leadership assignment we have is that of leading and motivating ourselves. It was always a thrill to watch missionaries motivate their sometimes reluctant physical and spiritual selves to higher achievement. For instance, while driving through Waynesboro, Virginia, one day with two missionary assistants, I read aloud a sign on the front of an impressive looking high school. “Waynesboro High School, home of the little giants.” It was Elder John Greenland from Tooele, Utah, who made the comment, “That’s kind of a bad program. If I were going to be a giant, I wouldn’t want to be a little one. I’d want to be the biggest, strongest giant that ever was.” He knew the real meaning of the sign, but he was, in a sense, delegating to himself a responsibility and committing himself publicly to strive for perfection. And that is the kind of a missionary he was—a giant on the way to becoming the most dedicated, effective, obedient, hardworking servant of the Lord he could possibly be.

In my ward our visiting teaching was scarce and temple attendance was very low. As the visiting teaching leader and a temple worker, I prayed that this could change. I used Elder Richard G. Scott’s conference talk, “Temple Worship: The Source of Strength and Power in Times of Need” (Liahona, May 2009, 43) to speak in both sacrament meeting and in Relief Society. The ward members were touched. Visiting teaching is now almost at 100 percent, and many are attending the temple and putting into practice the steps Elder Scott outlined in his message. A thousand thanks to Elder Scott for his beautiful message and to you for the Liahona.
Ana Meza de Eulogio, Peru

Whitman wrote: “The ice storm [that winter] wasn’t generally destructive. True, a few wires came down, and there was a sudden jump in accidents along the highway. … Normally, the big walnut tree could easily have borne the weight that formed on its spreading limbs. It was the iron wedge in its heart that caused the damage.

“The story of the iron wedge began years ago when the white-haired farmer [who now inhabited the property on which it stood] was a lad on his father’s homestead. The sawmill had then only recently been moved from the valley, and the settlers were still finding tools and odd pieces of equipment scattered about. …

“On this particular day, it was a faller’s wedge—wide, flat, and heavy, a foot or more long, and splayed from mighty poundings [—which the lad found] … in the south pasture. [A faller’s wedge, used to help fell a tree, is inserted in a cut made by a saw and then struck with a sledge hammer to widen the cut.] … Because he was already late for dinner, the lad laid the wedge … between the limbs of the young walnut tree his father had planted near the front gate. He would take the wedge to the shed right after dinner, or sometime when he was going that way.

“He truly meant to, but he never did. [The wedge] was there between the limbs, a little tight, when he attained his manhood. It was there, now firmly gripped, when he married and took over his father’s farm. It was half grown over on the day the threshing crew ate dinner under the tree. … Grown in and healed over, the wedge was still in the tree the winter the ice storm came.

“In the chill silence of that wintry night … one of the three major limbs split away from the trunk and crashed to the ground. This so unbalanced the remainder of the top that it, too, split apart and went down. When the storm was over, not a twig of the once-proud tree remained.

“Early the next morning, the farmer went out to mourn his loss. …

“Then, his eyes caught sight of something in the splintered ruin. ‘The wedge,’ he muttered reproachfully. ‘The wedge I found in the south pasture.’ A glance told him why the tree had fallen. Growing, edge-up in the trunk, the wedge had prevented the limb fibers from knitting together as they should.”

It was the same with the Haraga family, who came to the Hamilton Temple in April 2024. The parents received their endowment and were sealed to each other, and their daughter, Barbara, was sealed to them. Brother Haraga was also sealed to his deceased parents.
Brother Haraga was the first in his family to embrace the restored gospel when he was baptized in 2011. His wife and daughters joined him in 2015.
The Haraga family’s greatest desire was to attend the temple together to become an eternal family. Their dream became a reality in April 2024 when they entered the Hamilton Temple to be endowed and sealed. Faith in Jesus Christ led them to receive ordinances and make covenants in the house of the Lord.

When Doug Padilla was a high school freshman in Oakland, California, he decided to join a basketball team. Unfortunately, he was only four feet eleven inches tall. Fortunately, there was a special lightweight league for short people. “They took your age, weight, and height and rated you. If you scored low enough, they let you compete. If you scored really low, they put you in the D division. They put me in the D division.” But even in the D division there were challenges. “I had to play against some tall guys—some as tall as five feet four. And even the guys my size were better than I was, so I sat on the bench.”
But that was just for the first four quarters. “After every game they’d have a fifth quarter, where everyone would get to play. So I played in the fifth quarter.” Game after game, Doug rode the bench for the first four quarters, and then went out on the floor to do battle against the other fifth quarterites, fighting valiantly for rebounds against five-feet-four-inch giants. Although the rest of his body didn’t know it yet, the heart of a champion was beating in the thin little chest of Doug Padilla.

Chris stood next to the door to the Relief Society room. After what seemed a very long time, the door finally opened. Chris stood back and watched as the sisters left, chatting in twos and threes. He had learned over the years that it was easier to just wait for his mom in the hall, but today he really wanted to get into the Relief Society room.
He waited for just the right moment, then, ducking under Sister Brown’s purse, slipped in. He slid into an empty row of chairs and looked around. Just as I thought, he said to himself, there’s no fireplace in here.
“There you are, Son.” Chris turned when he heard his mom’s voice. “I was looking for you in the hall.” Noticing the confused look on his face, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
Chris handed his mom a sheet of paper he had been holding. “I came in here to see the fireplace.”
Chris’s mom read the first line on the paper out loud. “‘You and your parents are invited to attend a special baptism fireside.’”
“It says it’s going to be here in the Relief Society room, but where are they going to build a fire?”
Mom smiled. “A fireside is a kind of meeting,” she explained. “I’m not sure why it’s called that—maybe people really did meet around a fire at one time. But that rarely happens anymore.”
“Oh.” Chris was unable to hide his disappointment. “I thought maybe we would be roasting marshmallows or something fun like that.”
“It does say that refreshments will be served,” Mom tried to cheer him up. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go see how much longer your dad’s going to be.”
They walked to the clerk’s office, where Chris’s dad was busy helping Brother Watkins, a member of the bishopric, count the day’s tithing donations. “Did you get my tithing?” Chris asked excitedly. “I gave it to the bishop before sacrament meeting.”
Dad nodded. “We got it and just entered it into the computer. You’re well on your way to another year of being a full tithe payer.”
Chris smiled, thinking back to last year’s tithing settlement. He remembered the bishop saying, “Heavenly Father is very pleased with you for paying all of your tithing.”
Chris’s mom poked her head in. “How much longer are you going to be?”
“Not much longer. We’ll be finished in a few minutes. Do you want to wait for me, or do you think I need the exercise of walking home?”
“I don’t know. What do you think, Chris?”
Chris laughed. “I guess we can wait a few more minutes.”
As they waited on the couch outside the office, Sister Johnson came around the corner. “Chris—just the boy I need to talk to!”
“Me?”
“Yes. I was wondering if you would talk for a few minutes at the baptism fireside. I’m asking some of the children in your class to take a minute or two to tell what they are doing to prepare themselves for baptism. Would you be willing to do that?”
“I guess so,” Chris said nervously.
“Your mom and dad can help you,” Sister Johnson assured him. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job.” She turned to walk away, then turned back. “Oh, and one more thing. I want your whole class to recite the fourth article of faith together. Do you know that one?”
Chris nodded enthusiastically. “I know them all,” he said.
“I thought so.” Sister Johnson smiled. “Thank you for your help.”
“Your first fireside, and you get to be one of the speakers!” Mom said. “Good for you!”
Chris slumped on the sofa next to his mother. “But she wants me to talk about what I’m doing to get ready to be baptized. And I haven’t done anything. I should have told her to ask someone else.”
“I think you’ve done more than you know,” Mom said.
“Like what?”
Before she could answer, the door to the clerk’s office opened and out walked Dad and Brother Watkins. Brother Watkins held out his hand to shake hands with Chris. “And how are you today?” he asked.
“OK, I guess.”
“We were just talking about what a person should do to prepare for baptism,” Mom said. “Do you have any recommendations?”
Brother Watkins rubbed his chin. “Well, let me see. Someone who is interested in being baptized should be trying to learn about the gospel and trying to keep the commandments. Do you know someone who is interested in being baptized?”
“Yeah—me!” Chris said. “I’ll be eight next May.”
“That’s great!” Brother Watkins told him. “I think you’re doing a good job of preparing for baptism.”
“But what am I doing?”
“Well, I know that you attended your meetings today. And I saw that you paid your tithing. Those are two good things.”
Chris nudged Mom. “Go to meetings and pay tithing—I can say that in my talk.”
Brother Watkins went on. “Are you learning the Articles of Faith?”
Chris nodded. “I already know them.”
“Wonderful! Do you obey your parents?”
Chris smiled sheepishly. “Most of the time.”
“Do you remember to say your prayers?”
Chris nodded again.
“Do you read the scriptures?”
Chris’s smile faded. “No. Not really. I just read the kids’ ones. You know, the ones with lots of pictures.”
“The kids’ ones are a great start,” Brother Watkins assured him.
Chris’s smile returned. “I’m more ready than I thought,” he said happily. “There’s a baptism fireside next week. I’m supposed to tell what I’m doing to get ready to be baptized. I guess I always thought that all you had to do was be eight years old.”
“Thank you for your help, Brother Watkins,” Dad said.
“My pleasure,” said Brother Watkins. “When is the fireside?”
Mom looked at the invitation. “It’s at 6:00 P.M. next Sunday in the Relief Society room.”
“I think I’ll see if I can get myself an invitation,” Brother Watkins told Chris. “I’d love to hear your talk.”
“There’s going to be refreshments, too!”
“Excellent!” Brother Watkins grinned. “I do like refreshments.”
“This fireside’s only going to be missing one thing,” Chris said.
“What’s that?” Dad wondered.
“A fire. A perfect fireside would have a fire.”
“Hold that thought,” Brother Watkins told him, hurrying into the clerk’s office. He returned carrying his scriptures. “I think your fireside will be perfect.” He opened his scriptures. “What happens after you get baptized?”
“I don’t know,” Chris said.
“Sure you do. Tell me the fourth article of faith.”
“‘We believe that the first principles and ordinances of the Gospel are: first, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost,’” Chris recited.
“So, what comes after baptism?”
Suddenly understanding Brother Watkin’s question, Chris answered excitedly, “The laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
“That’s right. Now listen to this,” Brother Watkins said. “This is in Doctrine and Covenants 19:31 [D&C 19:31]: ‘Thou shalt declare repentance and faith on the Savior, and remission of sins by baptism, and by fire, yea, even the Holy Ghost.’ Chris, do you think that the Holy Ghost will be at the fireside?”
“I think so.”
Brother Watkins smiled. “I think so, too. You see, you’re right, Chris—a fireside really isn’t a fireside without the fire.”