Gospel Story Finder

Elder Fyans will always remember a story his mother told him about herself as a baby. This story has been a source of faith and strength to him over the years. “My mother was the first white girl born in Tuba, Arizona. One morning when she had barely learned to walk, she fell into an open fireplace and was badly burned. Her father was away from home at the time, but something impressed him that he should return home. Arriving home about four o’clock in the morning, he found that his little daughter was critically burned. Grandmother said, ‘Let the child die. She’s so badly scarred.’ But my grandfather picked his little daughter up in his arms, and he and the patriarch gave her a blessing. He blessed her that she would not be scarred and that one day she would sing before the crowned heads of Europe. That kind of blessing for a little child born on an Indian reservation was impressive.

“My mother grew to be a healthy, normal child, and, as the blessing had promised, she was not scarred. As she grew to maturity, she sang for a number of years with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The choir toured Europe and she did sing before royalty there, fulfilling the blessing given to her years before by those having priesthood authority.”

This glimpse in summary. It was in a school of instruction, the School of Prophets, that the Prophet asked that each in turn speak, that as the revelation says, all might not speak at once but “that every man may have an equal privilege” (D&C 88:122). The subject was faith. Scriptures were quoted. The last man to speak, as it happened, was Brother Kimball, who in effect said it’s all been said but I can say one thing, tell you a story. My daughter, Helen Mar, was standing near the table and her mother left her saying, “Don’t touch those dishes. Don’t break one of those or I will whip you.” Vilate left, and Helen Mar did what little children do when they are told not to do it. Not just a dish was broken. The whole table leaf collapsed. Now she went out, as she had watched her parents do, near a tree. We don’t know what she said, but it would have been simple enough. “Bless my mother that she won’t whip me.” Vilate returned. She saw the situation. She flared. She took Helen by the hand into the bedroom. She assumed the angle. And then she couldn’t go through with it. And the arms of Helen Mar came around her neck and she said, “Oh mother, I prayed that you wouldn’t. I’m sorry, sorry.” When Brother Kimball had finished, every man in the room, including Joseph, was in tears. And Joseph said, “Brethren [these are grown-up, strong, independent, willful, intelligent men], that is the kind of faith we need, the faith of a little child going in humility to its parent” (see Whitney, pp. 69–70). That sums it up.

Something happened to me yesterday afternoon that I found of great help to me, and it may be of help to you. Since that moment, the fear has gone. It was when Bishop Hales was speaking in conference. He mentioned that we had known each other since boyhood, and as he did a memory was replayed in my mind. It was of a hotel ballroom in New Brunswick, New Jersey. Bishop Hales was likely not there, since he lived in what seemed to us the well-established stake in New York. We were in the New Jersey District, a single district that covered the whole state. The Princeton Branch met in my parents’ dining room. Dad was the branch president. Mother was both the pianist and chorister (which is hard to do if you think about it). There was not another family in the branch with children, so my brother Ted was the Aaronic Priesthood, and my brother, Harden, and I were all there were of Primary and junior Sunday School. The congregations were young students who happened to be there, like Jim Fletcher and Neil Zundel, and a few older converts—none with spouses that were members.
There was no building, no gym, no stake center, and so we traveled to a hotel ballroom for what must have been a district conference. I was sitting on a folding chair somewhere near the back, next to my mother. I must have been very young because I can remember putting my legs through the back of the chair and sitting aft instead of forward. But then I remember hearing something—a man’s voice from the pulpit. I turned around and looked. I still remember that the speaker was at a rostrum set on wooden risers. There was a tall window behind him. He was the priesthood visitor. I don’t know who he was, but he was tall and bald, and he seemed very old to me.
He must have been talking about the Savior or the Prophet Joseph, or both, because that was all that I remember much of hearing in those days. But as he spoke, I knew that what he said came from God and that it was true, and it burned in my heart. That was before scholars told me how hard it was to know. I just knew of certainty—I knew it was true. And when I listened to Bishop Hales yesterday, I knew that what he was saying was from God and that it was true, and then the fear left.

In April 2008, the newly called Young Women general presidency—Elaine S. Dalton, Mary N. Cook, and Ann M. Dibb—stood atop Ensign Peak on the northern edge of Salt Lake City and looked out over the valley.
From their vantage point the figure of the angel Moroni sparkled on the Salt Lake Temple, and they knew then what the Lord had in mind for the young women of the Church.
The three women held aloft a walking stick from which waved a gold Peruvian shawl—their banner and ensign to the nations, a call for a return to virtue.
“We cannot get caught up with this new value of virtue without saying the reason for the value is the temple,” Sister Dalton said. “And the temple is the reason for everything we are doing in Young Women, because it will help these young women to come unto Christ.”
Virtue was officially added to the Young Women values in November 2008. It is defined in the Personal Progress book as “a pattern of thought and behavior based on high moral standards. It includes chastity and purity” (Young Women Personal Progress [booklet, 2009], 70).
This value is unique in that all the experiences and the value project are required, where the other values allow young women to choose from several options. In addition, for the first time, mothers have been invited to complete the Personal Progress program with their daughters and earn their own medallions.
In the last year, young women and others around the world have responded overwhelmingly to the call to return to virtue, flooding the Young Women office with letters and photographs from those who have answered the call. Many have climbed mountains and unfurled their own banners.
One group of young women in Hannibal, Missouri, USA, desiring to make a pledge to be virtuous from a high place and not able to find a mountain nearby, climbed a 36-story cement tower, unfurled their banner, and committed to live a virtuous life.
In Mexico, the name of the Young Womanhood Recognition translates to “The Award of the Young Woman of Virtue.” Young women in Mexico were excited about the addition of virtue as a value, Sister Dalton said—it is a value with which they were already familiar.
“The call to virtue has been received with overwhelming praise, from every aspect, within the Church and without,” Sister Cook said. “Leaders love it; priesthood leaders have emphasized it; mothers and grandmothers have been grateful for it.”
The project for the value of virtue is to follow the Savior’s admonition to learn of Him (see D&C 19:23) by reading the entire Book of Mormon and recording thoughts regularly in a journal.
An e-mail to the Young Women presidency from a sister in England reads: “Sadly, we have to apologize. We are not going to complete this as quickly as we had anticipated. The reason is my daughter and I are studying the Book of Mormon in a way we never have before. It is such a sweet experience—we want to take our time.”
The Book of Mormon teaches about societies that prospered and were happy when they were virtuous and pure but that fell when they were no longer virtuous, Sister Dibb said.
Men and women have been equally enthusiastic about the new value, the Young Women presidency said, citing examples of entire groups of young men and singles wards that have worked on the value together.
Sister Dibb emphasized that both men and women must focus on virtue to obtain the greatest blessings. “Men have no power or strength to exercise the priesthood that they receive if they are not morally pure,” she said. “And women receive that power and strength to fulfill their divine callings as wives, mothers, and as women as they practice virtue.”
Sister Dalton said she believes that the value of virtue has been saved for this time, a time when the world does everything but promote virtue.
“It’s interesting to us that in this world so many young women can lose sight of their identity as daughters of God,” Sister Cook said. “We’re just reminding them of that and also of the fact that if you have made a mistake, you can repent.”
The commitment to remain virtuous and pure is possible because of the enabling and redeeming power of the Savior’s Atonement, Sister Dibb said. The fourth value experience focuses on repentance.
In the last year, many women—both old and young—have communicated a desire to return to being virtuous women. “[The addition of virtue] has created an excitement for women who have made wrong choices. Many have said, ‘I can be a virtuous woman again. … It is possible for me,’” Sister Cook said.
Many of those who desire to be virtuous again wonder where they can start. The Young Women presidency shares with them this formula: Pray night and morning. Read in the Book of Mormon five minutes or more each day. And smile.
“If all women in the Church and the world did this, think what the world would be like in five years,” Sister Dalton said. “We really do believe that virtuous young women led by the Spirit can change the world.”

Testimonies abound in Tonga of the power of the priesthood as a means of bringing comfort or healing to those in distress. When 44-year-old Sione Siaki of Tongatapu fell ill with fever and pain, many feared he would die. The hospital in Tonga was full, but a nurse brought medication to his home. Day after day he suffered, for more than a month. “I was waiting to die,” says Brother Siaki. “Then our Relief Society president suggested a ward fast. She talked with our bishop, and twice our ward of 300 members fasted for me. Before the fasts, I couldn’t move. Two weeks after the second fast, I sat up and gradually got better. Now I am a temple worker. When I am in the temple, it comes straight into my mind that maybe this is why I was saved.”

I didn’t feet much like an expert, but the four men in the small room looked at me as if I were, Reggie, Robert, Charles, and Don, the district president; they needed my help in getting their new chapel built, and I’d been sent for that purpose.
But there are times when the expert doesn’t have any answers. What could I tell these men who wanted an infallible method of gathering the needed funds? Certainly the approved way was by member contributions. But these members said they were incapable of such contributions—or at least they seemed to be. Even the richest among them appeared poor.
But I could think of no other solution. I said, “Of course, we’ll need to get the money from the members.”
They nodded, but said nothing. They knew I hadn’t really solved their problem.
So I took it a step further. “First it is essential that each of you make your own personal commitment,” I said.
“How much do you suggest?” Don asked.
“I’d suggest about fifty pounds.” I could tell by their expressions that I had struck too deep.
“As with the leader, so with the people,” I reminded them. “You cannot ask others to do what you yourself are reluctant to do. After you have made your own commitment, the Lord will help. With that, good planning, and hard work, anything can be done.” They nodded, but I could see they had some reservations. Two of the men had retired on small pensions, and the other two, one a contractor and the other a day worker, had families and small incomes.
Following the meeting, Don drove me back to my hotel, with Charles accompanying us. As I got out of the car, Charles looked at Don and said, “I’ll take a bus from here. I need to talk with Brother Walton.”
“All right,” Don replied. “I will come and get you at seven so that we can get to our meeting on time.” He was smiling but the worry that had come into his eyes at the suggestion of a fifty-pound donation was still there.
Charles and I went up the steps of the hotel veranda and sat down on wicker chairs. I looked into his face and saw a lifetime of grinding toil behind him. We sat there and rocked and looked across the street to the big green park and the Indian Ocean beyond.
At last he spoke. “About the money: I’m on a fixed pension and I have no other source of income. My health is poor. My wife and I struggle every month to have enough to pay our bills. I can honestly see no way to pledge anything—fifty pounds or even less.” He was a humble man, and I regretted having placed him in this position; I also felt his regret that he was not able to carry his share of our burden. “Most of the others are in as difficult a position as I am. It may be that we should wait awhile before we attempt such a huge undertaking,” he said sadly.
I said nothing because I didn’t want to pressure Charles, but I must admit that my mind began to reflect over the many pages of history written about the efforts of people who achieved the impossible. I finally said, “May I suggest that you talk this over with your wife and pray about it. It’s really between you and the Lord, not with me or anyone else.”
Charles stood and we shook hands. He was a small, pale man, with very little strength in his hands, but there was sincerity in his eyes. He walked down the sweeping wooden steps; as he crossed the street he must have felt my eyes on him for he turned and waved.
I was about to go to my room when Reggie drove up, waved, and parked his car. He was young and wiry and came up the steps two at a time. He told me of his small business, his young children, and lack of work, and finally that he simply could not see how he could pledge fifty pounds.
I gripped his shoulder. “Let me suggest that you discuss this with your family and with the Lord. You are not wanting to build this church for me, but for the Lord. Perhaps He has a way in mind for you. But most of all, don’t be depressed. No one expects you to do more than you are capable of doing.”
Reggie was in a hurry, and there was obviously nothing more that I could say. I knew that unless these leaders made their own commitments, their people could not be expected to respond. I did not have much time to think about Reggie; before my visitor was out of sight, a young hotel employee called me to the phone.
The caller was Robert. He was a retired postal worker, a fine man, and a recent convert. He talked slowly and he repeated, over the wires, almost word for word what Charles had said. “We have only a small pension … fixed income …”
I was standing in the lobby at the reception desk. There were other people around and I felt I should not discuss Robert’s finances in a public place. I agreed with all that he said, then reminded him, “But there is someone else that you need to talk to besides me.”
There was a pause, then he answered, “I understand. I will see you at the meeting.”
The members filled the small red brick building they called their Church. We closed all of the windows, but still the neighbor’s radio could be heard through the wall. It was the usual meeting, with few surprises. Despite the events of the previous afternoon, I wasn’t even surprised when the president and his counselors announced that they would each pledge fifty pounds for the new building. Their talks, though short, rang with sincerity, and the audience was moved to participate.
I returned to Sydney the following day with confidence. The money would be collected; the building would be built. All that remained for me to arrange was a Church building supervisor. I sent a telegram to Salt Lake City asking them to send one.
The first few weekly reports from Perth were not encouraging. Money was being pledged, but not enough. Soon I decided to make another visit to see when they would be ready to start construction. Certainly I did not want a supervisor sitting in Perth with no building to build. I sent a telegram to Don, and one week later I sat down again with the same four men. This time there was a definite air of excitement among them that had not been there before. I began to speculate, gave up, and asked Reggie to give his report.
“I didn’t see how I could possibly get the fifty pounds, but my wife and I decided to make the pledge anyhow and hope we could find a way to get it. After pledging the fifty pounds, I contacted a nursery to see what I could do. I got a contract to bring in wild flower seeds—we have the most beautiful flowers in the world here in western Australia. I was lucky; the nursery had just received a request for these seeds from a U.S. company. My family and I have given our Saturdays and every possible hour after work to gathering them. We have not only earned our pledge money, but we’ve also received some side benefits from the work. The children enjoyed the family outings as well as the opportunity to earn extra money. We have started some projects of our own at home that we could never afford before.” He looked at each of us and smiled, “It sure has been a great benefit for us!”
Next I asked Robert to report. He crossed his legs and, with a quiet smile, leaned forward and began to speak.
“Like Reggie, I just didn’t know how I was going to fulfill that commitment. I spent some time before and after that meeting in conversation with the Lord—I really needed help. Well, the next morning I received a letter from an old friend. His son had been admitted to the university here, and he needed room and board. Now that our children are married and gone, we have an extra room. The boy has been with us for the past two weeks, and he has brought light and sunshine into our home. He’s a fine lad, and we are happy to have him with us. He has no church ties, so he’s started coming with us.”
“What about your pledge?” Don asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh, yes! Well, his father sent us fifty pounds in advance for his school year. It will be fairly easy to add what little he eats to what Mum and I need—especially with our garden as it is growing now.” He smiled at us, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “We not only got the money, we got extra sunshine in our lives as well,” he said.
Don turned to Charles. “Let’s hear from you now.”
“I also did not know what to do. I could not conceive of how I would ever get the fifty pounds I committed for the Lord’s house. I, too, spent some time telling the Lord of my problem and asking his help to fulfill my commitments.
“I was in town the morning after that meeting, and, as I crossed the street, a truck came by with a load of reinforcing bars extending well beyond the bed of the truck. I nearly walked into them—and I wasn’t the only one. Several other people had equally narrow escapes. I was so angry that he hadn’t tied a warning flag on the ends of the bars that when I got home I called the chief of police. He told me that there was an ordinance requiring red flags, but it had not been enforced because no flags were available for the truckers.”
Charles took a deep excited breath, then continued. “As of now, my wife and I have bought up all the red cloth in town. It’s all cut into the legal size; she sews a seam and I thread a piece of stout twine through it for tying it to the loads. I contacted some of the truckers, and we have more orders than I can possibly fill. More than that, our usually dull days have turned productive and we have established a little business that will bring us additional money long after the building is completed. Yes, we have fulfilled our commitment; and we will have the strength to do even more now.” He sat back with a satisfied smile that had in it more than a tinge of gratitude.
Don was the next to give his report.
“That Monday morning following our fund-raising meeting, I went to an early morning sales meeting. Afterwards, I overheard our store manager complain about the lack of honest, competent help to take inventory. I stepped forward and volunteered four people—my wife, my two oldest daughters, and myself. We’ve already received our first check, the fifty pounds that we agreed to work for. In six months we’ll take inventory again—just in time to meet the next needs. Oh, and one more thing: our work has brought me favorably to the attention of my superiors. I have already received a pay raise and I was told that I’m next in line for promotion.”
I looked at the men in the room, each of whom had found a way to honor his commitment—with the Lord’s help. And then I knew as never before that even though I may have felt inadequate as an expert, the Lord is never inadequate as a helper. The good Saints in Perth had responded to the challenge with obedience and effort. In turn, the Lord had responded by opening the windows of heaven and pouring out blessings.

Recently, the young men and women of the Yap District (Micronesia Guam Mission) got together for a “One-Day Mission,” under the direction of the mission and district presidents.
They started the day by reciting by memory 1 Nephi 3:7 [1 Ne. 3:7] (“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded …”). Then they sang “Called to Serve,” were divided into companionships, and received training. Two by two, they went out to preach the gospel, carrying copies of the Book of Mormon with them.
They found some opposition—it rained throughout the day, and some people they met were unpleasant or threatening. But nothing stopped them.
As a result, 49 copies of the Book of Mormon were distributed on this tiny island. And the youth brought back many referrals for the full-time missionaries. Already some convert baptisms have resulted from these referrals.
The day ended with a testimony meeting.

A trip I took from my home in Arizona to New Zealand with some close friends was a great experience in every way. But the lasting impact of one particular moment strengthened my testimony of the importance not only of being honest, but of repenting in this life.
We were to return home from New Zealand in three days when I drove my rented car into another vehicle in our hotel parking lot. There was very little damage; a tiny piece of paint scraped off the other car. But my heart grew heavy as I thought of my responsibility and of the four dollars I had left in my purse.
No one except a friend accompanying me had seen the accident, as it was late at night. A series of thoughts went through my mind as I walked to my room:
“This sort of thing happens all the time, and no one ever worries about it. No real damage was done to the car. No one could possibly know who had done it. I don’t have any money. What if this person tries to take advantage of the situation and charges me hundreds of dollars to have his whole car painted?”
I entered my room and immediately got down on my knees, intending to ask Heavenly Father to let me know that not doing anything about the situation would be all right. But the second I closed my eyes, I knew I couldn’t ask Heavenly Father to approve that which was wrong. Instead, I quickly asked him to help me do what was right.
Without even waiting for the answer I had known all along, I immediately got up from my knees and wrote a quick note explaining what I had done and where the damage was. I included my hotel room number and asked the owner to please contact me. Then I went out to the parking lot and put the note on the damaged car. I slept well that night, realizing that the result didn’t matter: somehow I would be able to take the appropriate actions.
The next morning, a very nice-looking man knocked on my door holding the note in his hand. He quickly let me know that the damage was nothing to be concerned about and that he was surprised and pleased that anyone would have bothered to leave a note.
“Are you sure?” I asked, explaining that I wanted to do what was right. He reassured me that I need not worry about it, and left.
What would have happened had I not taken these steps? I never would have been able to make amends to that man. One month later while watching a similar accident on television with my family, I received another reward besides that of peace of mind.
“That’s what I did in New Zealand,” I said to my husband, who was already familiar with the incident.
When my oldest daughter asked what I had done about it, I seriously explained that it was late at night and that, since no one had seen me, I went to my room.
“Mother,” she said, looking me straight in the eye, “I know you, and you would never do that!”
Her faith in my made me eternally grateful I had repented of my error while in New Zealand. Perhaps it’s like repentance in this life instead of the next: restitution for my actions was fast and physically easy because the man and car were right there. I could simply ask him what I needed to do—and do it.
Had I tried to repent later, the process would have been longer and more difficult because I never could have made restitution, but would have had to find another way through much prayer and deliberation. I am grateful that I repented quickly of my error and didn’t disappoint myself or my daughter.

“Although the pageant was cancelled last year, we still had auditions and a workshop. I loved being part of the community of the pageant, it really felt as if we were one big family sharing love and faith. Living on the temple grounds was fantastic and I felt the Spirit very strongly. We camped on a site nearby, until one night we got flooded out and were blessed when local members asked us to come and stay with them.
“The directors are amazing; it’s not all about speaking with the perfect accent, flawless singing, absolutely perfect dancing—although it is all very professional—it’s more about the feeling. The people whom we depict in the pageant story knew what they were doing. The miracle was that ordinary people were transformed into a supportive community of faith and love, and that is what has been reproduced as the cast members come together to depict this awe-inspiring story. We too are ordinary people meeting together, often as strangers in the beginning, and creating a community of faith and trust.”
Lizzie will play the part of Sarah Ashton, the eldest daughter of the main character, Arthur Ashton. In the story he loses his wife, and the pageant tells of his journey of doubt, belief and faith. Lizzie explains that like many people, she has experienced grief in her family, but has been uplifted by focusing on the promises of the temple, finding comfort in the knowledge that families can be together forever, which Lizzie calls the linchpin of her faith.
“The story is about the hope that the temple gives, and it is wonderful to be a part of this special event; I can’t wait!”

This story happened in the Romania.
Patrik stared up at the ceiling as he lay sprawled on his bed. He was bored. He had already read his animal books, jumped on the trampoline, and rode his bike around the neighborhood. What could he do now?
Patrik got up and walked to his older brother Daniel’s room. “Will you play with me?” Patrik asked.
“Sorry, I can’t. I have to study,” Daniel said. He didn’t even look up from the book he was reading.
Patrik felt his heart sink. Daniel was always studying. Couldn’t he take a break?
Oh well. Daniel was busy, but Patrik could ask his other brother, Simion. “I’m bored. Can you play with me?” Patrik asked.
“No, not today. I’m going out with friends.” Simion put on his jacket and walked out the front door.
Patrik was so mad! His heart beat faster. His older brothers were always too busy for him. He ran to his bedroom and slammed the door.
It’s not fair! Patrik thought.
He stomped his foot and flopped onto his bed. His chest felt tight. He was so bored! But he felt too mad to think of something to do.
Then he remembered something he learned at school. His teacher taught them that taking deep breaths could help them feel calm.
“It’s hard to fix anything when you feel angry,” she had said. Maybe if he was calmer, Patrik could think of a way to solve his boredom problem.
So Patrik took a big, deep breath. Then he took another. After a few more, his chest didn’t feel so tight anymore. But he still didn’t know what to do.
He sat up and looked at the picture of Jesus Christ on his wall. What would He want Patrick to do?
Patrik got down on his knees. “Heavenly Father, please help Daniel as he studies,” he said. “Help Simion to have fun with his friends. And please help me to not be so bored.”
When he finished his prayer, Patrik had an idea. He raced down to Daniel’s room.
“Daniel, when you’re done, can we play together?”
Daniel looked up from his book at the clock on the wall. “I can take a break in about 30 minutes. Then we could go outside. Do you want to do that?”
“Yes!” Patrik smiled and ran back to his room. He found an animal book about tigers he liked looking at. After reading it for a while, he played with blocks. Soon the time had passed, and he and Daniel headed toward the woods near their house.
“Do you want to play warriors in space or explorers in the jungle?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t care. I’m just glad we can spend time together. It’s a lot better than being bored,” Patrik said.
Daniel grinned. “Well, playing with you is a lot more fun than studying for a test.”
Patrik felt happy as he and Daniel crawled through the grass. Calming down had helped him to think more clearly so he could solve his problem. And Heavenly Father had helped him to be more like Jesus Christ. It was turning out to be a good day after all.
Illustrations by Linh My Nguyen

Brothers and sisters, there may be times in our lives when we might feel alone and may not receive the cheers and encouragement of others. I had an incredible career here at BYU—playing four years at LaVell Edwards Stadium, where more than 60,000 fans cheered me on. Banners and signs were held up in my support, and fans chanted, “Give Jamal the ball!” That filled me with energy, confidence, and the motivation that I needed to give it my all. My confidence in my abilities grew immensely as I heard the cheers of the fans.

I carried that with me into my NFL opportunities until an injury came along that ended my career. I hit another dark place in my life. My dreams had come to an end.

One day I had the chance to come back to the LaVell Edwards Stadium, where I had once heard the cheers and felt the confidence. As I entered the stadium, I walked down that tunnel where I used to run out before every game and hear the chants of 60,000 fans. But now those cheers were no longer there, and the stadium was quiet.

There was no more cheering, no more “Give Jamal the ball.” My identity and self-worth were being challenged. As I gathered myself and all my emotions, I walked back up the tunnel and took a seat in the front row to gather my thoughts.

As I sat there, I remembered the moment I had had with God in my room. Once again I had the same reassurance from Him—that it was okay and that things would work out. I felt as if He was telling me, “Your playing days are over, but you have so much to give, so much to do! Stand up, press forward, keep going, be thankful and hopeful, and everything will work out. You are not alone.”

In that moment I did not hear the fans cheering me on, but, most importantly, I heard God—and an army of angels—cheering for me instead.

In Doctrine and Covenants 84, the Lord promises:

I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.

And that’s exactly what I felt in that moment. So even though my football career had come to an end and the fans were gone, I knew and trusted that God would always be by my side with these many earthly angels who He has given me in my life. They have stuck with me, believed in me, and supported me. They became my team.

At 53, Elizabeth seized another learning opportunity. She and her daughter Jessie were walking down the street in Bendigo when a man in a black coat and top hat introduced himself as a missionary from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He offered them a book and said it would teach them God’s plan for His children. Elizabeth always eagerly accepted free books, but this one would change their lives.

All through that night, Jessie read The Book of Mormon to her mother, and the Holy Spirit affirmed to them this book was true.

Elizabeth and three of her children were baptized on 2 February 1902. A couple years later, her two grandsons were baptized.

When I was a Mia Maid, the secretary in our Young Women presidency, Sister Moore,* was moving to a new home, so all of the leaders and young women volunteered to help. The morning we showed up to help pack, everything that could go wrong seemed to be going wrong, and Sister Moore was feeling very overwhelmed. We tried to keep positive and do what we could.
After packing the boxes, we waited for the moving truck to come. But it didn’t come, and we waited, and waited, and waited. After a while, we called the driver. He explained that he had gotten lost on the way and then had run into traffic. Finally, after another two hours, we saw him turn the corner onto Sister Moore’s street.
But before the truck got any closer, it stopped. It had broken down—just far enough away that we wouldn’t be able to carry any heavy furniture to it. It was all too much for Sister Moore and she started to cry.
Our Young Women president started to comfort her, and lovingly and calmly she asked, “Did you pray before you started your day today?” Sister Moore looked surprised and said no. Our president said, “Let’s pray now.” We all knelt in the kitchen. Immediately after the prayer, we heard the truck’s engine start. It was working again! We were finally able to finish the job.
I know the power of prayer is real, and I always make sure to start my day off with a prayer to invite the Lord to be with me throughout the day.

When the call came to be a mission president, there was no question about his accepting it. But none of the family realized how profound would be the change it would bring in their lives. Becoming a mission president required him to give up a good job, and his daughters were concerned about that. As the time neared for him to be released, in July of 1981, one of them asked him several times where he planned to work afterward. He had no answer, except that he was not worrying about it.

Then, on 16 March 1981, there was a telephone call from President Spencer W. Kimball in Salt Lake City. The prophet asked how things were in the mission, and asked about the welfare of Elder Abrea and his family. But “I didn’t think he had called me just to see how I was,” Elder Abrea says, smiling. Then President Kimball issued the call to the First Quorum of the Seventy, as well as to the presidency of the temple that was to be built in Buenos Aires. He talked to Sister Abrea and called her to be the first matron of that temple.

Suddenly, everything about the Abreas’ life had changed. Elder Abrea remembers that President Kimball told him on the telephone that day, “You will never finish your mission. This mission is for the rest of your life.” He was sustained a member of the quorum 4 April 1981, and moved easily into full-time service as a way of life.

How does a man who is so dedicated relax? “My only hobby is to work in the Church,” Elder Abrea replies. When there is an opportunity, he enjoys watching soccer, a game he used to play on high school and university teams. (Claudia notes that he also used to make a creditable contribution as a member of Church basketball teams.) “I like to read. I like to talk to people. I like to be with people.”

Elder Abrea undoubtedly has the opportunity to be with many people as temple president. The Buenos Aires urban area includes approximately eleven million residents, more than a third of Argentina’s population. His wife and daughters recall the pleasure of living in Salt Lake City, a “small city” where most people they meet are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It is time for more Argentines to become Latter-day Saints, Elder Abrea says. Many are better prepared than ever before to hear the gospel message because of the growth of the Church and the building of the temple in their country. Sister Abrea notes that the Church has become well enough established in Argentina for its influence to be felt over decades; her nephew represents the fourth generation of Church members in his family. Elder Abrea says Church growth has accelerated in his native country during the past fifteen or twenty years.

“The Church has the great respect of the government and the people. They respect the members. They don’t know the doctrine, but they can see how the Mormon people act, how they live. I think that example of the people of the Church is the best proselyting tool we have.”

In fact, he says, people throughout South America are now much more prepared to hear and accept the gospel. “I think the hand of the Lord is at this moment on those countries. We have more missionaries working. More local members of the Church are doing missionary work.” Handling rapid growth is one of the Church’s biggest challenges in South America. But that very growth makes Latter-day Saints more visible and gives them more influence.

When he was fifteen, reflects Elder Abrea, “the only temple I heard about was in Salt Lake City. I couldn’t imagine a temple in my country.” But the House of the Lord that is there now is a symbol of the progress being made in Argentina, and throughout South America. So, too, he says, are the rising attendance figures; in some areas, there is a 75 percent activity rate for Melchizedek priesthood holders.

“I am a witness of the latter-day miracles,” Elder Abrea affirms. “We need to look at what the Church is doing with the eyes of faith. There are so many miracles being done in South America.” Members who look beyond the routine affairs of the organization will see the hand of God at work.

He speaks quietly, but firmly. He is back in South America to work. With Elder Abrea, and South Americans like him, laboring under the Lord’s direction, one expects that the Church will continue to experience many more miracles of growth and spirituality.

At this time in our lives, my father had drifted into inactivity from the Church, so my mother relied on ward priesthood leaders to help raise us. Ned Brimley was our home teacher. One Sunday I was passing the sacrament and I went into the foyer with a tray of water, we had already passed the bread. A woman was just walking into the building late so, I approached her with the tray and she took the water. Mind you, the bread had already been passed. Brother Brimley happened to be in the foyer with his young daughter. As I made my way back into the chapel, Ned pulled me close and whispered, “NEVER PASS THE WATER TO SOMEONE WHO HASN’T TAKEN THE BREAD. THE SACRAMENT IS SEQUENTIAL. I’LL EXPLAIN WHEN I VISIT THIS WEEK.” I did NOT know what the word “sequential” meant but I was intrigued.
Later in the week when Brother Brimley visited, he came with a lesson about how the earth was created in seven days and how God created it in “sequence.” God started by separating light from darkness, the waters from earth, plant life, animals and so forth before Adam and Eve. Then he rested on the seventh day. The creation was “sequential.” He explained the priesthood is also ordained in sequence. Aaronic before Melchizedek. Each office within those priesthoods is sequential, deacon, teacher, and priests. Elder, high priests, Bishop and so forth. It’s sequential. Faith precedes the miracle. Sequential. Baptism is followed by the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost. Sequential. The sacrament? Sequential. The bread is always blessed and taken before the water. Brother Brimley ended by searing these words into my heart as a 12-year-old deacon: “Vai, God’s House is one of order. He expects you to live your life with order; sequentially. Serve a mission. Go to college. Get married. Then have children. If you have children BEFORE marriage, your life will be out of sequence, out of order and you will have problems. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir Brother Brimley. I do.”
I understood the word “sequential” at age 12 in a powerfully personal and unforgettable way that many of my peers, even ones much smarter than me, could ever know it. Guess what? These lessons stayed with me. In time, when I was on a date with a cute girl, I remembered, “Sequential. College. Mission. Marriage. Children. College. Mission. Marriage. Children.”

A Relief Society president knows that, in spite of a report which shows members receiving temporary assistance constitute 4 percent of a ward, to the sister in distress it is 100 percent. Her needs are whole and real. Consider the case of a woman we shall call Sister Allen. Troubled and lonely, she had just returned from a hospital stay and major surgery. Two months before, her husband had abandoned his responsibilities to their family of five. The bishop had visited, and now the Relief Society president came. It was a family-needs visit, and as they talked Sister Allen spoke wistfully of having some cream of asparagus soup and blueberry muffins. These items were not on the bishop’s order form and could have been dismissed as not available. But the president really wanted to serve Sister Allen and wondered if this rather special request might suggest a need for more than food. What was Sister Allen’s real need? Was it for commodities or for consideration, for someone to demonstrate that she was worthwhile by giving her special attention now, when her problems seemed to overwhelm her?
Sensing the larger need, the Relief Society president ordered the items available through the storehouse, then assigned compassionate service responsibilities to her visiting teachers and others to provide meals that included the muffins and the soup and also to show their concern in other visible and tangible ways. Sister Allen responded. She got better, aided by the food but more so by their friendship.

A few weeks ago on a day when this area was experiencing one of its worst snowstorms, and that is saying quite a bit because we had plenty of severe weather this past winter, a handsome young serviceman and his beautiful bride-to-be encountered extreme difficulty in getting to the Salt Lake Temple for their marriage appointment. She was in one location in the Salt Lake Valley and he was to come from another nearby town. Heavy snows and winds had closed the highways during the night and early morning hours. After many hours of anxious waiting, some of us were able to help them get to the temple and complete their marriage plans before the day was over.
How grateful they, their families, and friends were for the assistance and concern in their keeping this most important appointment. My friend—we will call him Bill—expressed his deep gratitude with, “Thank you very much for all you did to make our wedding possible. I don’t understand why you went to all this trouble to help me. Really, I’m nobody.”
I am sure Bill meant his comment to be a most sincere compliment, but I responded to it firmly, but I hope kindly, with, “Bill, I have never helped a ‘nobody’ in my life. In the kingdom of our Heavenly Father no man is a ‘nobody.’”

My sons, Josh and Matt, have an exceptional ability to approach virtually any animal, even seemingly vicious dogs, and calm them. It is amazing to watch. When Josh was fourteen, he and I were camping in Canyonlands National Park. Some sweet little birds with the unfortunate name of tufted titmouse were fluttering around the piñon pines in our campground and rushing to the ground to pick up seeds or the crumbs from our meals.
Josh said, “Dad, I’m going to get one of those birds to eat from my hand.”
Noting the birds’ skittishness, I dismissed his assertion with something like, “Good luck with that,” and settled in my camp chair to read.
About an hour and a half later, Josh quietly called to me: “Dad. Dad!”
When I looked up from my book, there were three titmice standing on his hand eating some crumbs from a piece of bread. I was astonished! Josh is arguably our most active child and has struggled with attention deficit disorder and hyperactivity. Yet his amazing patience and kindness brought these little birds flocking to his hand. I could not replicate it.

by Kevin Livingstone
We had all heard stories about the pioneers. We were told of their perseverance trudging through miles of mud, of their intense suffering crossing the barren plains, and of their ever present hunger and incredible sacrifices. Remembering them, we felt a variety of emotions: interest, excitement, a touch of fear. The reason? The Taber Stake of Alberta, Canada, would be participating in a pioneer trek.
The group, youth and leaders, were divided into “families.” Each family selected a handcart and assembled it, loaded it with gear, and left civilization behind.
The first few miles weren’t bad; then we began to get hungry and tired. A couple of miles later we considered rebellion, but then the handcarts ahead of us started singing songs the pioneers might have sung. We pulled some more.
After a day and a half of pulling a handcart, we arrived at base camp, where a variety of activities had been planned. It started to rain, but that didn’t dampen any spirits. We ate roast turkey, learned new games, made candy, and danced the Virginia Reel.
Sunday was a special day with church meetings and an afternoon devoted to quiet times alone in study or meditation.
After returning home to the prospects of hot water and soft beds, good-byes were said and promises made to keep in touch. And tears were shed. Tears for friends we had grown to love; tears for the experiences we had just been through; and tears for the strength of the pioneers. But most of all, we shed tears because we had come to know our Heavenly Father and his deep love for each of us as individuals.

A passage from the novel Les misérables illustrates how priesthood holders can treat those individuals viewed as strangers. Jean Valjean had just been released as a prisoner. Exhausted by a long voyage and dying of hunger and thirst, he arrives in a small town seeking a place to find food and shelter for the night. When the news of his arrival spreads, one by one all the inhabitants close their doors to him. Not the hotel, not the inn, not even the prison would invite him in. He is rejected, driven away, banished. Finally, with no strength left, he collapses at the front door of the town’s bishop.
The good clergyman is entirely aware of Valjean’s background, but he invites the vagabond into his home with these compassionate words:
“‘This is not my house; it is the house of Jesus Christ. This door does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry and thirsty; you are welcome. … What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me [your name], you had one which I knew.’
“[Valjean] opened his eyes in astonishment.
“‘Really? You knew what I was called?’
“‘Yes,’ replied the Bishop, ‘you are called my brother.’”7