Gospel Story Finder

My second example emphasizes the importance of persevering through the trial of our faith. A few years ago a family traveled to Europe from the United States. Shortly after arriving at their destination, a 13-year-old son became quite ill. The mother and father initially thought his upset stomach was caused by fatigue from the long flight, and the family routinely continued on its journey.

As the day continued, the son’s condition became worse. Dehydration was increasing. The father gave his son a priesthood blessing, but no improvement was immediately evident.

Several hours passed by, and the mother knelt by her son’s side, pleading in prayer to Heavenly Father for the boy’s well-being. They were far from home in an unfamiliar country and did not know how to obtain medical assistance.

The mother asked her son if he would like to pray with her. She knew that merely waiting for the anticipated blessing would not be enough; they needed to continue to act. Explaining that the blessing he had received was still in effect, she suggested again petitioning in prayer, as did the ancient Apostles, “Lord, Increase our faith” (Luke 17:5). The prayer included a profession of trust in priesthood power and a commitment to persevere in doing whatever might be required for the blessing to be honored—if that blessing at that time was in accordance with God’s will. Shortly after they offered this simple prayer, the son’s condition improved.

The faithful action of the mother and her son helped to invite the promised priesthood power and in part satisfied the requirement that we “dispute not because [we] see not, for [we] receive no witness until after the trial of [our] faith” (Ether 12:6). Just as the prison holding Alma and Amulek did not tumble to the earth “until after their faith,” and just as Ammon and his missionary brethren did not witness mighty miracles in their ministries “until after their faith” (see Ether 12:12–15), so the healing of this 13-year-old boy did not occur until after their faith and was accomplished “according to their faith in their prayers” (D&C 10:47).

Elsa Jacobsen had a problem. After years of working hard in school and excelling in the classroom, on the student council, and in the ballet studio, she had created a situation for herself that she didn’t quite know how to handle. Several top universities, including Stanford University located near Palo Alto, California, were vying to have Elsa as a student. All were great schools, some were offering attractive scholarship packages, and any of them would provide lots of great learning opportunities.
“I finally narrowed it down,” says 18-year-old Elsa, “and after a lot of fasting and prayer I received a peaceful confirmation about coming to Stanford. From the time I arrived here, I knew why. I love it here.”
Everyone should be so lucky to have problems like that, right? But whether you’re an ace student or you’re praying that the local junior college will look past your grade point average and concentrate on your potential, the decisions you make about your education will affect the rest of your life.
Once you arrive there will be even more decisions to make: What will you major in? Whom will you be friends with? Whom will you date? It’s a huge change, and it can be a little overwhelming. But Elsa and her Stanford classmates have come up with several great ideas for establishing a great after-high-school life that will work whether you’re headed for the Ivy League or Hometown U. Here are some of their stories:
Dustin Matsumori, a Stanford freshman from Murray, Utah, faced a dilemma similar to Elsa’s. He knew he was going to go to college, but where? And why? So Dustin started doing what any good student would do—his homework. He considered cost, class sizes, majors offered, and the student population at each school on his list.
“I came to visit Stanford with my parents and was really impressed with the beautiful campus and the great weather,” says Dustin. “Then the tour guide started giving us the stats about Supreme Court justices and Nobel laureates and other impressive people who have graduated from Stanford.”
Dustin was excited by the prospect of being able to go to a school that had such an awesome reputation. But he wasn’t ready to sign on the dotted line just yet. Something was still missing.
“When I was getting information about Stanford, I found out that the Latter-day Saint Student Association [LDSSA] hosted a seminar each Friday at lunchtime. When I walked into that room with the other LDS students, I felt right at home. It was then that I knew I could go away from home and have wonderful educational experiences and still strengthen my testimony.”
Andy Walburger is a returned missionary who plays on the Stanford water polo team. Being able to play for the team was a big factor in his decision to go to Stanford, but it wasn’t the only one.
“I love the LDS community here at Stanford,” he says. “I think relationships are a very important part of a college education. In fact, a big part of what you learn at college happens outside the classroom, so you want to make sure that it will be a good atmosphere. Having LDS friends here has made all the difference for me. After all, staying at home by yourself every Friday night isn’t a lot of fun.”
Holly Goodliffe, a freshman from Salt Lake City, says that although she was thrilled to be at college, there was some uncertainty as she faced her first days in a world where her parents weren’t nearby.
“I think that being away from home for the first time has really helped me appreciate the gospel more than ever before,” says Holly. “I feel like I have a solid foundation. Also, I know I can rely on my other LDS friends. We sort of look out for each other. If someone’s not at church, we let them know we missed them.”
Mark Madsen led the Stanford basketball team to the NCAA Final Four last year. He is a tenacious and aggressive player, and it would be easy to assume that basketball is the only thing that matters to such an impressive athlete. But Mark, who served a mission in Spain, says that it’s church, not sports, that gives him the anchor he needs in his life.
“Going to church at the student ward is a huge relief for me, especially after a road trip with the team,” says Mark. “After a few days in a strange city playing against tough guys, it’s nice to come and sing the opening hymn and be with my ward family. I love Sundays.”
Even though LDSSA is just one of several religious, academic, and professional groups on campus, the LDS students say they think it is one of Stanford’s most noticed groups. Their numbers may be small—less than 100 of the 7,000 undergraduate students are LDS—but their impact is felt in almost every dorm, classroom, and organization. These guys are involved with a capital “I.”
In addition to the athletic pursuits of Mark and Andy and their LDS teammates, there are LDS athletes in gymnastics, synchronized swimming, and crew just to name a few. Emily Andrus, an LDS student from Salt Lake City, just finished a year in office as student body president. This year another LDS student, Maren Norton, took her place. One LDS student leads daily campus tours. Several are in musical, dance, and performing groups. And at nearly every rally, game, performance, or debate, there is a small but vocal cheering section of LDS students.
“I’m always running in several different directions at once,” says Emily. “But my LDS friends watch out for me. I’m well taken care of.”
That involvement and the support network that comes along with it make it easy for all the LDS students to let their gospel light shine. In every group and on every team, people notice that the Mormon kids seem to have their own fan club, which leads to questions about the gospel. Lisa Arrington, a recent convert to the Church, became interested in the gospel because she was friends with Mark. She wanted to know more about the friends that seemed to always surround him and why they always seemed so happy. Now Mark isn’t just her friend; he’s also her home teacher.
But it isn’t just high-profile activities that bring missionary opportunities. Dustin’s friends noticed he didn’t drink. They asked questions, and soon Dustin was sharing the Book of Mormon and For the Strength of Youth pamphlets with the guys on his floor. Holly’s roommate, a Christian, noticed that Holly read her scriptures daily just as she did. She wanted to know more about Holly’s beliefs, and now they occasionally study the Bible together.
Meghann Evershed, a sophomore, jogs a few times a week with her friend Matt Blythe. While they jog, they often talk about the gospel.
“I really enjoy discussing religion with Meghann because she’s very clear,” says Matt. “She seems to have all the answers. It’s cool to understand her beliefs.”
Four years seems like a long time, but time flies when you’re having fun, and these students are definitely doing that. It’s the kind of fun that comes from working hard, playing hard, and loving and living the gospel. It’s the kind of fun that anyone, no matter where they go to school, can have if they want to.
So maybe you didn’t get a perfect score on the SAT, and the thought of college algebra makes you break out into a cold sweat. Just remember that whether you’re trying to decide between several schools or just hoping that one will take pity and let you in, every problem has a solution. Especially when you have the gospel to guide you and good LDS friends to help you find your way.
It’s a simple concept—one that will make you look very smart no matter where you go to school.
Here are some things that make the Stanford LDSSA great. Keep them in mind when you’re choosing a college—your bishop can tell you if there’s an institute program at the school you choose. Or if you choose a school without an LDSSA, maybe you could team up with other LDS students or young adults in the area and help implement some of the following ideas when you arrive:
All incoming freshmen receive a welcome letter and a packet of information about where the student ward meets, where institute classes are held, and how to get involved.
Stanford students stay connected via e-mail. If there’s an activity or an event, it’s easy to let everyone know.
Helping the community is a great way to build friendships. Stanford students have developed a tutoring program that allows them to help struggling elementary, junior high, and high school students succeed.
Stanford students use the buddy system. Each incoming freshman is assigned a “big brother” or “big sister,” an upperclassman who can show them the ropes.
Institute classes not only provide a spiritual dimension to education; it’s also a great break from other studies and a good way to see friends. Stanford students make every effort to schedule their other classes so they can attend.

My dream of attending the Air Force Academy was deep-rooted. My father was a career man in the air force, and those summers I spent with him, learning to fly, and becoming familiar with everything about air force life, were some of the greatest experiences I’ve had. My parents divorced when I was quite young, so I didn’t get to see my father very often, and those times when we were together were very important to me.
During my junior year in high school, I made my official application for the Academy appointment. School was going well for me; I was getting good grades; I was active in my priests quorum; and in the spring of that year, I was elected student-body president. The possibility of receiving an Academy appointment looked better and better. As much as I wanted it, though, one thought kept repeating itself in my mind: “You should go on a mission.” I knew President Kimball had counseled that every young man in the Church should fulfill a mission, but I felt my case was an exception. If I accepted a mission call, my chances of ever entering the Academy would be very poor, since most cadets went in immediately after high school graduation. I also felt that living a good LDS life while at the Academy would, in a sense, be a mission in itself. Despite my reasoning, however, the prompting continued, and so did my efforts to squelch it.
After school was out, I flew to Virginia to spend the summer with my dad, who is not a member of the Church. Discussing with him the likelihood of winning an appointment made the prospect even more exciting. Dad’s encouragement was motivating, and I returned to Lewiston even more determined to make him proud of me, his son, the future Air Force Academy cadet! The summer had done a fairly good job of deadening my thoughts of serving a mission, but almost the first Sunday I was home, those old, unwelcome feelings began to stir. I realize now that the Holy Ghost was working overtime on me, and since then I have gained a strong testimony of the power of his influence. Every single day my thoughts were occupied with thoughts of the Academy versus a mission. I began reading my patriarchal blessing frequently; it said that when the time came, I would serve a mission. Still, my desires were with the Academy, and I was becoming more and more confused.
During these months I spent a lot of time talking to my former bishop, Bishop Tolman, trying to sort out my feelings and decide what I should do. He didn’t try to influence my decision, but told me he would support me in whatever I decided. His confidence in me was a great support. As I prayed for guidance in making the right decision, I felt assurance that I would.
Then on October 10, 1976, as I was sitting in testimony meeting, I suddenly knew that I had to go on a mission and that the Academy would have to wait. I had in my jacket pocket a missionary handbook that had been distributed in priests quorum meetings months and months before. I took it out and wrote in Spanish (so no one else would know what I was writing), “When I’m 19, I’ll go on a mission.” I recorded the date, and then I put it away. I didn’t think about it again for a couple of weeks. I’d made my decision, and my conscience wasn’t working quite as hard.
It was just about this time that the nominations to the Academy were being announced. I was named. It was a little hard to explain to some of my friends and teachers that what I had worked for for years, now a reality, was going to be turned down. I talked to Bishop Tolman for about an hour and a half. He said, “Chris, I really think you’ll be happy with this decision. I believe you’ve made the right one.” As we talked I began to have a desire to serve a mission rather than just a feeling of obligation.
Then the time came to tell my dad. I didn’t know what to do. I felt sure that he would never be able to understand or accept my decision. To him the air force was everything, and I knew that when I told him, it would be the last time I’d ever talk to him. I prayed constantly for the courage to tell him, that somehow he would be able to accept it.
When I heard his voice on the other end of the line, I nearly hung up the telephone. Somehow, though, the words came out. After I told him, there was at least a full 30 seconds of total silence. I had expected anger and disappointment, but the silence was even more unnerving. Finally he spoke: “Well, Chris, just what is a mission?” He asked me what I would be required to do, how long it would be, where I was going. After listening to my explanation he said firmly, “If that’s what you really want, then I’ll support your decision.” It completely surprised me; I couldn’t talk. I gave the phone to my mother and went downstairs to my room.
Since that time my dad and I have kept a regular correspondence going, and he has even offered to help support me financially. My gratitude to him has increased tremendously as I have come to realize more than ever before his great love for me.
I’ve had times since our conversation when I’ve thought, “I had the Academy in my grasp, and I let it go, and now I’ll never get it again.” Those times, though, aren’t very long-lasting and are few and far between. I realize that I won’t die if I don’t get to go to the Academy and that serving a mission is what the Lord wants me to do. I’m excited about it, and nothing will keep me from serving the best that I can!
Editor’s Note: This story was written prior to Elder Henderson’s departure for the mission field. He is now serving in the Korea Seoul Mission.

Sometimes cities and nations bear special labels of identity. Such was a cold and very old city in eastern Canada. The missionaries called it “Stony Kingston.” There had been but one convert to the Church in six years, even though missionaries had been continuously assigned there during the entire interval. No one baptized in Kingston. Just ask any missionary who labored there. Time in Kingston was marked on the calendar like days in prison. A missionary transfer to another place—any place—would be uppermost in thoughts, even in dreams.
While I was praying about and pondering this sad dilemma, for my responsibility then as a mission president required that I pray and ponder about such things, my wife called to my attention an excerpt from the book A Child’s Story of the Prophet Brigham Young. She read aloud that Brigham Young (1801–77) entered Kingston, Ontario, on a cold and snow-filled day. He labored there about 30 days and baptized 45 souls.9 Here was the answer. If the missionary Brigham Young could accomplish this harvest, so could the missionaries of today.
Without providing an explanation, I withdrew the missionaries from Kingston, that the cycle of defeat might be broken. Then the carefully circulated word: “Soon a new city will be opened for missionary work, even the city where Brigham Young proselyted and baptized 45 persons in 30 days.” The missionaries speculated as to the location. Their weekly letters pleaded for the assignment to this Shangri-la. More time passed. Then four carefully selected missionaries—two of them new, two of them experienced—were chosen for this high adventure. The members of the small branch pledged their support. The missionaries pledged their lives. The Lord honored both.
In the space of three months, Kingston became the most productive city of the Canadian Mission. The grey limestone buildings still stood; the city had not altered its appearance; the population remained constant. The change was one of attitude. The label of doubt yielded to the label of faith.

Dan’s missions fulfilled Joseph Smith’s last recorded prophecy. The night before the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, he heard gunfire outside the window of Carthage Jail, so he chose to sleep on the floor. Near him was Dan Jones. The Prophet asked Dan if he was afraid to die. He replied, “Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause I do not think that death would have many terrors.” Then Joseph prophesied, “You will yet see Wales, and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die.”2
The Prophet’s promise was fulfilled in 1845, when Dan and his wife, Jane, were called to serve in Wales. Dan used his talent for speaking to teach the gospel with great conviction. He was fluent in Welsh and English, and witnesses recorded that he spoke so captivatingly that he could hold his audience’s attention in either language for hours.
While in Wales, Dan published Latter-day Saint periodicals, tracts, and books in Welsh. Under Dan Jones’s direction, missionaries in Wales established 29 branches and baptized nearly 1,000 people each year of his first mission. He was called on a second mission to Wales in 1852, and despite growing persecution of the Church, some 2,000 people were baptized in four years.
Upon his return to Utah, Dan helped bring many Welsh converts to Utah. When he died at age 51, he had helped bring an estimated 5,000 people to the western United States.

My young friend whom I’ll call Lindsey needed hope. She lived in a home which was devoid of the Spirit and of love. Her friends were wild, and even most of her Young Women leaders looked on her only as a “project.” But deep inside she felt that the Lord loved her, despite her deplorable situation. She focused on always remembering Him. She chose not to participate with her friends when they did bad things. She tried to worship Heavenly Father in the privacy of her own bedroom because she wanted to feel His Spirit in her life. Something in her wanted to be good, to keep His commandments. Even with her limited knowledge and lack of outside help, she was trying to keep her baptismal covenants. She felt hope to carry on, and she felt love from Heavenly Father.

Like the Saints in Missouri, Lindsey knew that in spite of her deplorable conditions, Heavenly Father hadn’t given up on her. His love was firm. She took comfort in the “immutable covenant” of His love—that “all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good” (D&C 98:3). As with Abraham, hers was not an easy path to walk, yet she pressed forward. As she did so, she found help. One special Church leader loved and guided her. She grew closer to Heavenly Father and eventually found a young man who loved her, taught her much about the gospel, and married her.

At last many of the blessings she had longed for earlier in life were poured out upon her. She found she could have the Spirit in her own family and raise righteous children. Where once she was isolated and neglected, she now feels enveloped by love. This has come from pressing forward while waiting patiently on the Lord. Being steadfast in Christ brought hope to Lindsey as it will to each of us as we struggle with life’s challenges. The words the choir sings tonight will encourage us to come unto Him:

“Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
Her father died on a cold night in February, on his way home from a business trip to Florida. And now her mother was explaining what had happened. She spoke in a calm, measured voice. The commuter flight to Albany had crashed taking off from Kennedy. Megan knew already. It had been on the news. They said ice on the wings was probably the cause.
The northeaster had swept up the coast over the weekend, burying the fields deeply in the freshly fallen snow. Megan stared out the living room window. The cruelest month, their neighbor Mr. Chisholm called it. Actually, it was T. S. Eliot who said April was the cruelest month, but he spent most of his life in England, so what did he know. February in the hills of upstate New York had little kindness in it, nothing but the vindictive end of winter and no hope of spring.
Andrew started to cry. Susan looked confused and frightened. Megan abruptly got up and went to the mud room and put on her riding coat and boots. She didn’t want to hang around inside any longer.
Her father and Mr. Chisholm had been working on putting the horse-drawn sleigh back together. They’d been restoring it since October. She’d saddle up William and … and …
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart almost stopped, a feeling so incomprehensible she felt it could not be happening to her. The world shimmered, fragile as fine crystal caught at the perfect pitch. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and clenched her fists.
When she opened her eyes, the shimmering had stopped.
Outside, it looked like heaven. The sky was a piercing, frozen blue, the snow cover so brilliant white it made her squint and hold up her hands to shade her eyes. It hadn’t snowed like this in years. That’s what the people said who came to sympathize, to console. Nonstop the last two days. She would prefer they didn’t. It wasn’t their business. He wasn’t their father.
She swung open the stable doors. William the Conqueror greeted her with an annoyed nicker and a bang on the side of his stall. “Oh, c’mon, William,” she said, patting his withers. She put on a saddle and bridle.
The driveway was clear. Across the county road Mr. Chisholm was finishing his long driveway with the snowplow mounted on his tractor. He always did their driveway when he did his.
She trotted William up beside him. “Good morning, Mr. Chisholm!” she yelled over the hoarse rumble of the John Deere engine.
He doffed his cap to her, old habit. “G’morning, Megan.” But he hadn’t expected her this morning. He’d heard what happened.
Megan rode up to the porch and dismounted while Mr. Chisholm parked the tractor in the barn. His dog, Gabriel, pushed open the storm door with his muzzle and limped over to her. There had been a time when he could stand and put his forelegs on her shoulders. But, however willing the spirit, the body was in bad repair. She stroked him behind the ears. “Hi ya, Gabriel. Don’t like this cold, do you?”
Mr. Chisholm shook his head. “A husky, no less. That must sting the pride.” He massaged Gabriel’s coat. “Just like people, I guess. Old is old.”
“Oh, not Gabriel,” Megan said, holding his head in her hands and peering into his weary eyes. “He’ll live forever.”
“Nobody lives forever,” Mr. Chisholm said, with a gruffness he worried later had been too sharp. He added, “Not in this life, at least.”
But Megan didn’t appear to notice or mind.
When she got home Sister Garner and Sister McAllister had stopped by. She could tolerate them, not being the weepy, feeling-sorry-for-you kind. They had brought dinner. At this rate, her mother wouldn’t be cooking the rest of the month and a good part of the next.
While they talked in the kitchen with her mother, Megan sat in the living room, staring out the window, wondering that the world could be so perfect and so deadly at the same time.
Mr. Chisholm went with them to the funeral. That night, after she got into bed, Megan listened to her mother’s and her grandparents’ voices drifting up the staircase from the kitchen. They were talking about the thing they always waited to tell her later, if at all. But she wanted to know. They weren’t going to have to move—something about insurance and double indemnity, the settlement with the airline. As for the farm, Mr. Chisholm already rented half their fields and could probably take over the rest.
“I’m worried about Megan.”
Megan leaned forward, tilting her head toward the door.
Her mother went on, “She seems so … unemotional, so distant. She and her father were very close. It worries me, seeing her … seeing her going on as if nothing had happened.”
Megan couldn’t hear what her grandmother said, but it was probably something reassuring. Grandmother was a very reassuring person.
Megan lay back and curled up under the covers. I’m not unemotional, she told herself. It’s just that I believe what the Church teaches. I’ll be with my father again. There’s nothing to be sad about. But she felt a cold clenching in her chest as she sank into her bed. She stared at the ceiling in the darkness and faded off to sleep.
The funeral marked the end of what their life had been, and the beginning of a life they could not have dreamed of. It was a season of uncertainties, and March was an incalculable month. With February so short it didn’t always know that winter was over. March was far too long, but it needed all that time to figure itself out.
You could forgive March for being that way. But not April. It occurred to Megan, walking home from the bus stop on a gray Friday afternoon, that Mr. Eliot was right. It was a cruel month, one day bright and warm and full of promise, and the next day a frost would snap the growing buds like brittle bones. It couldn’t be trusted. You always had to be on your guard.
Coming around the bend she saw Mr. Chisholm’s John Deere stopped in the middle of the north field, and Mr. Chisholm trudging through the freshly turned loam, something bundled up in his arms. It was Gabriel, and for a horrifying moment she imagined that he had been caught under the spades of the plow.
She ran up the driveway, meeting Mr. Chisholm as he struggled up from the muddy lane. “What’s wrong?”
Mr. Chisholm shook his head. “Don’t know.” He laid Gabriel carefully on the porch. “Just seemed to run out of gas.”
Megan sat down beside the old husky. Gabriel turned his head towards her. There was grief and shame in his dark brown eyes.
Mr. Chisholm leaned against the railing, took off his cap, and wiped his brow. “I’ll give Dr. McAllister a call,” he said, a weariness in his voice Megan didn’t quite understand. He kicked the mud off his boots and disappeared into the house.
Saturday morning he took Gabriel to Charlton Corners to see Dr. McAllister. Megan watched from across the road, paced up and down the driveway, sat on the porch, rested her chin in her hands.
The big red Ford came around the bend, turned in at the driveway, and made the long, slow climb to the house. Mr. Chisholm turned off the engine. He sat in the cab, hands clutching the steering wheel. Finally, he opened the door and got out, standing, so when Megan ran up to him she could not see around him into the cab.
“How is he? How is Gabriel? Is he going to be all right?”
Mr. Chisholm looked down at her. His eyes were like Gabriel’s eyes. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Megan …” he said. “Megan, he was old. He was in pain. It’s been going on for too long. There wasn’t any way to make him better.”
She stared at him.
“Megan …” he said again.
She twisted away, ran to the cab. Gabriel lay lifeless on a white canvas sheet. Mr. Chisholm pulled her away. She lashed out at him. There was a roaring in her ears that she realized was the sound of her own voice. Then she wrenched free and ran home across the fields.
She slammed the door, tripped over her brother’s galoshes in the mud room, and crashed to the floor. She kicked off her boots, viciously stubbing her toe. She could barely stand, and she clasped her arms tightly across her chest as if she might explode.
“Megan.” Her mother looked in from the kitchen. “Megan, what’s wrong?”
“Gabriel …” she gasped, blinking the tears out of her eyes.
“Gabriel?”
“He had him put to sleep,” she stated bluntly. She limped into the living room and collapsed on the couch. Her mother followed her, but Megan averted her gaze, and presently, she left. Megan curled up on the cushions, resting her head on the armrest. The knuckles of her right hand throbbed.
She hardly felt the pain. She was afraid. She knew she was afraid, afraid she could not hold the world together. A clear, aching tone rang through her temples. If the crystal shattered, she would never find all the pieces, never put it back together. If she could just be more careful, see these things coming, not hurt, not feel, have a heart of stone.
She whispered these things to herself, a quiet mantra of unemotionality. Through the window, across the road and fields, she watched Mr. Chisholm mark out a plot in the garden by the porch and begin to dig a grave.
She looked up at the ceiling, tasting bitterness and regret in her mouth. When she looked back her mother was standing next to Mr. Chisholm, and then she was walking away. The door opened and closed, and she heard her mother’s footsteps in the hall. She closed her eyes tightly. She did not want her mother to try to talk again.
Megan knew how unfair she was being. She ran to the mud room, flung on her jacket, and pulled on her boots and flew out of the house.
Gabriel lay on the white canvas sheet next to the grave. “He was a good dog,” Megan said, softly.
Mr. Chisholm turned to her. There was an angry red welt on his jaw, and she remembered how she had bruised her knuckles. “Aye, he was.” There were tears in his eyes, and she felt sorry for what she had done.
She knelt next to him and stroked Gabriel’s silver coat.
“There wasn’t anything Dr. McAllister could do. He didn’t suffer in the end.”
“I know.” She managed to smile reassuringly.
They sat together on the damp earth. Mr. Chisholm said, “We’d better get it done.”
She nodded, and then realized he meant her to help him. She grasped the corner straps of the tarp, he the other two. It was almost too heavy for her, especially with her right hand growing numb, but she braced herself, and they lowered him into the ground.
When she got home she told her mother, “We buried Gabriel.”
After she said her prayers that night, Megan told herself she had done right by Gabriel and Mr. Chisholm. She reminded herself that the past was past, her father was gone, it was all behind her, she would be fine. But it wasn’t true.
She told herself again. The words only disappeared into the air.
She told herself again, but a voice interrupted her, a voice she somehow recognized, a voice saying, “No, Megan.” A voice insistent, not reproachful. “Everything breaks, Megan. But everything mends, if you only give me the pieces.”
She did not remember awakening. She did not remember how she cried, sobbing so she could not breathe. But she remembered her mother’s arms around her, holding her, the universe of love enclosing them, her mother whispering it was okay to cry, to feel the hurt of her loss.
And then it was morning.
It was early, and she found her mother in the kitchen, at the stove. Together they stirred and tasted the tomato, pepper, and garlic that would go on the spaghetti for lunch after church. It was always better this way, when you cooked it up in the morning and let it sit for a few hours before warming it up again. Then her mother looked at her, touched her cheek. “We’re going to be all right, you know,” she said. “Your father loved you a great deal and always will.”
Megan knew, but at the same time she felt something missing from her life, a vacancy where there should be a presence, a hollow in her heart. And yet she would not deny it now, for it marked a sacred place in her memory and held the distant hope of heaven.
She walked outside into the cool, wet sunlight. Mr. Chisholm had just stepped out onto his porch. She cupped her hands and shouted, “Good morning, Mr. Chisholm!” and waved. Not the most reverent way to begin a Sunday morning, but she strongly suspected at that moment she might be happy, or at least capable of happiness. And it would not do to keep the moment only to herself.

While deaths at any time are heartbreaking, the timings of deaths during the crisis of 1918-1920 were sometimes tragic in themselves. In February 1919, John Diston, a native of Sunderland, was faithfully discharged from the British Royal Navy and rushed home to be with his young wife, Beatrice, in Portsmouth. The couple had only been married six months and many of the family were sick with influenza and pneumonia. John finally made it home to Beatrice’s bedside, but he only had five hours with her before she passed away. As they prepared for the funeral, other family members continued to struggle with illness. On the day of Beatrice’s funeral, her adopted brother, George, also passed away. The double tragedy was hard to bear. Of Beatrice’s seven siblings, only one survived to old age.17

Though his memory shines especially bright during this Bicentennial year, Abraham Lincoln had lost some of his luster for citizens in Spokane, Washington. It seems the city’s statue of the nation’s 16th president needed a facelift after prolonged exposure to the rainy northwest climate. It was the Explorers of the Spokane First Ward who provided the manpower to clean up the statue.
Accepting President Kimball’s challenge that each American devote 24 hours of service to his community, the Explorers scrubbed the statue with a vinegar solution and polished it up with naval jelly.
It was a great birthday present to the country, and both the Explorers and Abe have reason to stand tall.

Sometimes we have so many ideas and thoughts to share that we give in to the temptation to tell a lot of stories that have nothing in common. While they may all be effective if given at the proper time, their value is lost when given with many other unrelated stories. This results in the following situation:
A farmer stepped into the town hall to hear the visiting speaker. The talk went on so long, however, that he sauntered outside for a bit of fresh air. A neighbor passing by asked, “Jim, what is he talking about?”
“I don’t know,” came the reply. “He hasn’t said.”

Yamikani Ntakwile was introduced to the Church by her brother after their mother died in 1997. Her brother, George Ntakwile Shongwe, had joined the Church and was living in South Africa. He returned to Malawi for the funeral, bringing with him a copy of the Book of Mormon and other Church literature. He also shared the doctrine of the plan of salvation with the family, helping them understand that their family could be together eternally.
Yamikani stopped attending her childhood church and waited for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to come to Malawi. Each night she would read from the Book of Mormon—the one her brother had given her. She said, “Even though I did not understand much of what was written because of poor English abilities, I continued each night to read the book. It was always under my pillow. I had hope that the true Church would come to Malawi someday”.
In 2000, Church leaders officially opened Malawi and missionaries began to work in the city of Blantyre. Yamikani was among the first to be baptized there. She was so committed to the teachings of the restored gospel that a year later, she was sealed to her parents in the South Africa Johannesburg Temple, and in 2002 she was called to serve as a full-time missionary in the Johannesburg, South Africa Mission—becoming the first sister missionary to be called from Malawi.

It was Sunday, nearly forty years ago, and an important political matter suddenly needed attention. Syngman Rhee, president of the Republic of Korea (South Korea), sent his secretary to find his vice-minister of education, Kim Ho Jik.
The secretary found the vice-minister teaching Sunday School in his LDS branch. “You’ll have to wait until the class is over,” Dr. Kim told the secretary.
When Dr. Kim finally arrived at the presidential palace, President Rhee scolded him for taking so long. Dr. Kim explained to the president and the others gathered there that his calling as a Sunday School teacher was important, and he had needed to finish his lesson.
President Rhee patted him on the shoulder. “Chal haesso (You did well)!”

Butch and Diana Alder, from Sandy, Utah, are serving as senior missionaries in the Australia Melbourne Mission. Warrnambool holds a special place in Elder Alder’s heart, as his great-great-grandparents, John and Charlotte Nye, joined the Church there.
The Nyes were introduced to the Church of Jesus Christ in 1856 by George Thomas Wilson, the local veterinarian, when he came to their home to treat their prized horse. Conversation turned to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and Brother Wilson invited the couple to learn more. At the time of their baptism, the nearest established congregation of the Church was in Sydney.
Elder Meurs told the story of his parents, who lived in the area, joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1958.
Fred and Lois Meurs, strong Christians from different faiths were actively searching for someone to answer their gospel questions. After carefully studying the New Testament, they began to search for a church that had teachings that were consistent with Jesus’s teachings.
They had questions about the purpose of life, priesthood authority, what happens when we die, ordinances like baptism, and the role of prophets and apostles. They had spoken to the religious leaders of the community, but no one could give them the answers they were searching for. They began to earnestly pray for someone to answer their questions.
That same week, two full-time missionaries, Elder Jones and Elder Erikson, knocked on their door and said they had a message about Jesus Christ to share with them. Fred and Lois asked them all their questions, and the missionaries answered every one. Three weeks later the Meurs were baptised and confirmed. Some other families joined soon after, and the first Warrnambool Branch was formed.
As the Church grew, new members moved in, and others moved out.
“Many wonderful people, over the years, have been touched by the wonderful association with the Warrnambool Branch and have very fond memories,” Elder Meurs said. “Faith has been strengthened, and people have become part of the Church of Jesus Christ here on the earth. They have felt the Saviour’s teachings and His presence in their lives.”
Elder Meurs, quoting President Russell M. Nelson’s remarks from the October 2024 general conference said, “My dear brothers and sisters, in a coming day, Jesus Christ will return to the earth as the millennial Messiah. So today I call upon you to rededicate your lives to Jesus Christ. I call upon you to help gather scattered Israel and to prepare the world for the Second Coming of the Lord. I call upon you to talk of Christ, testify of Christ, have faith in Christ, and rejoice in Christ!” (“The Lord Jesus Christ Will Come Again,” Liahona, Nov. 2024).
Elder Meurs concluded his remarks by saying, “I testify that Jesus Christ lives. He knows each of us. Dedicate yourselves to living the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
Also in attendance was Damon Page, Area Seventy. Speaking to the branch members, he said:
“What will we raise here in the Warrnambool Branch? By following our faith and the promptings of the Spirit, we will touch those around us. We will raise up strong sons and daughters that will become more like our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ.”
“How do we become who we want to be? Work is the secret. We must be willing to work for those things that will bring us closer to Jesus Christ.”
Karen Jones, a branch member since 1990, said, “The members lift and strengthen each other. Many members have passed away, but the remaining members have put their shoulder to the wheel and have helped the branch to push along. Warrnambool has given me strength, love, and hope.”
President Suringa said, “What is happening today is a manifestation of the Lord’s power. There are so many great things ahead.”

Showing love to the Savior by keeping His commandments does not have to be a big thing. Little acts of kindness demonstrate our love as much as grand efforts. Many years ago, two unmarried women took a neighbor’s children to Primary each week. At that time, Primary was held on a weekday afternoon. The children lived in difficult conditions, and their parents were not active in the Church. The Primary sisters washed the children’s faces, combed their hair, tidied or washed their clothes, and mended the torn knees of their trousers. As a result, the whole family began to change. The oldest boy went on a mission. When he returned, he married a fine Latter-day Saint girl who herself had been a missionary. He is now serving as a bishop. One of his sisters also served a mission. The family is now fully active. They were always good people, but they needed a little help. That whole family was changed for eternity because two dear ladies cared enough to take those children to church.

Another profound influence in Elder Orton’s life was his grandmother Mildred Riggs, who lived with the family after the death of her husband. She set an example of personal righteousness and self-discipline, reading the scriptures faithfully every day and choosing to serve a mission while in her late 60s. “When the time came for me to consider going on a mission, I began to think of my grandmother and the kind of person she had been,” Elder Orton recalls. “Finally I said to myself, If Grandma Riggs can do it, you can do it, and you should do it.” Elder Orton subsequently served in the French Mission, an experience he credits with deepening his love for the restored gospel.

Even as the restored gospel spread across the continent, the blessings of the house of the Lord remained out of reach for most members in South America. Until the completion of the São Paulo Brazil Temple in 1978, only those able to travel to the United States or Europe had the privilege of making eternal covenants and participating in ordinance work for others. Saints throughout South America contributed to the temple’s construction by laboring at the site, selling valuables, and donating savings.
Shortly after the dedication of the temple, Efraín and Maria Ondina Rodríguez from Arequipa, Peru, made the trek to São Paulo. Complications at international border crossings and the outbreak of a revolution turned their trip into nearly a monthlong journey. Despite encountering many difficulties, through faith and determination they were united as eternal companions. For others, attending the temple required fording raging rivers and crossing the towering Andes mountains to be sealed together forever as families.

For example, when I got a text from a sister telling me she couldn’t attend an event because of some family issues, I felt prompted to go visit her.
She told me the traumatic, heartbreaking challenges her family was going through. I had no idea what to say—I had never encountered similar issues in my own life. I prayed as we talked, and the Spirit inspired me with comforting words to share with her.
We can accomplish what’s required of us through God’s power. “If thou art sorrowful, call on the Lord thy God with supplication, that your souls may be joyful” (Doctrine and Covenants 136:29). When I gave my trust and faith to God, He returned it with support and joy.

As a child, I loved to hear stories about Noah, David, and Daniel. Later, I read a children’s collection of Bible stories. Then, when I was ten, I decided to read the Bible itself from cover to cover.
I made that attempt more than once, always with the same results. Each time I read past Genesis, I became overwhelmed by the complexity of the Old Testament and quickly lost interest.
Then, when I was nineteen years old, I was converted to the restored gospel—and rediscovered the scriptures. Now that I had the added insight of the Restoration, the scriptures became a source of rich and unending delight.

This last experience testifies of the peace that our Father in Heaven can give to those left behind:
“At the time of my mother’s suicide, she had lost her earthly companion, was in ill health, and did not accept help freely. She had told my aunt that she could cope with the loss of my father or the difficulties she was having with her health, but that she couldn’t handle both. That was two days before she died. I believe she considered suicide very soon after my father was killed in an automobile accident. I was concerned enough to discuss the possibility with her doctor, but no action was taken. The reason for this, I believe, is the lack of understanding we have as a society in dealing with these types of problems.
“I believe the Lord will consider each case separately and judge the circumstances of each individual. I have sincerely sought direction from our Father in Heaven to help me understand the nature of suicide. And I have come to know, as well as anything else that I know from God, that these people have a place in the kingdom of our Father, and it is not one of darkness or despair, but one where they can receive comfort and experience serenity.”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
I don’t like Tiffany, that new girl. Let’s ignore her.
She just wants to have friends. Don’t you?
I don’t interfere where I’m not wanted. Let’s not give her a valentine.
You know the rule—everybody gives everybody a valentine.
Then we’ll all write mean things on her valentines, and that includes you—understand?
I understand that she has feelings too, and I’m not going to do it.
Then you might just get the same treatment as she does.
Hey, Tiffany, want to swing?
Thanks for the nice valentine, Mandy. And for playing with me.
You’re a child of God, and so am I. That makes us sisters, and I like being with you.