Gospel Story Finder

Forty-four years ago I heard William J. Critchlow Jr., then president of the South Ogden Stake, speak to the brethren in the general priesthood session of conference, and retell a story concerning trust, honor, and duty. May I share the story with you. Its simple lesson applies to us today, as it did then.
“Rupert stood by the side of the road watching an unusual number of people hurry past. At length he recognized a friend. ‘Where are all of you going in such a hurry?’ he asked.
“The friend paused. ‘Haven’t you heard?’ he said.
“‘I’ve heard nothing,’ Rupert answered.
“‘Well,’ continued [the] friend, ‘the King has lost his royal emerald. Yesterday he attended a wedding of the nobility and wore the emerald on the slender golden chain around his neck. In some way the emerald became loosened from the chain. Everyone is searching, for the King has offered a reward … to the one who finds it. Come, we must hurry.’
“‘But I cannot go without asking Grandmother,’ faltered Rupert.
“‘Then I cannot wait. I want to find the emerald,’ replied his friend.
“Rupert hurried back to the cabin at the edge of the woods to seek his grandmother’s permission. ‘If I could find it, we could leave this hut with its dampness and buy a piece of land up on the hillside,’ he pleaded with Grandmother.
“But his grandmother shook her head. ‘What would the sheep do?’ she asked. ‘Already they are restless in the pen, waiting to be taken to the pasture—and please do not forget to take them to water when the sun shines high in the heavens.’
“Sorrowfully, Rupert took the sheep to the pasture, and at noon he led them to the brook in the woods. There he sat on a large stone by the stream. ‘If I could only have had a chance to look for the King’s emerald,’ he thought. Turning his head to gaze down at the sandy bottom of the brook, suddenly he stared into the water. What was it? It could not be! He leaped into the water, and his gripping fingers held something that was green, with a slender bit of gold chain. ‘The King’s emerald!’ he shouted. ‘It must have been flung from the chain when the King [astride his horse, galloped across the bridge spanning the stream, and the current carried] it here.’
“With shining eyes Rupert ran to his grandmother’s hut to tell her of his great find. ‘Bless you, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you never would have found it if you had not been doing your duty, herding the sheep.’ And Rupert knew that this was the truth.”
The lesson to be learned from this story is found in the familiar couplet: “Do your duty; that is best. Leave unto the Lord the rest.”

When I was called as a General Authority by President Russell M. Nelson, I was flooded with emotions. It was overwhelming. My wife, Julie, and I anxiously awaited the Saturday afternoon session of general conference. It was humbling to be sustained. I carefully counted the steps to my designated seat so as not to fall in my first assignment.

At the conclusion of that session, something happened that had a profound effect on me. The quorum members formed a line and greeted the new General Authorities one by one. Each one shared their love and support. With a hearty abrazo they said, “Don’t worry—you belong.”

In our relationship with the Savior, He looks on the heart and is “no respecter of persons.” Consider how He chose His Apostles. He didn’t pay attention to status or wealth. He invites us to follow Him, and I believe He reassures us that we belong with Him.

This message especially applies to the youth of the Church. I see in you what President Nelson sees in you. He said that “there is something undeniably special about this generation of youth. Your Heavenly Father must have great confidence in you to send you to earth at this time. You were born for greatness!”

I am grateful for what I learn from the youth. I am grateful for what my children teach me, for what our missionaries teach me, and for what my nieces and nephews teach me.

Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.

As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”

He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”

Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

In the Gospel of John, the Savior said to His disciples that He would prepare a place for them. Thomas was confused and said to the Savior:
“Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?
“Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
The Savior taught His disciples that He is “the way, the truth, and the life.” He is the answer to the question of how to come unto Heavenly Father. Gaining a testimony of His divine role in our lives was something I learned as a young man.

While I was serving as a missionary in Argentina, President Howard W. Hunter invited us to do something that had a profound effect on my life. He said, “We must know Christ better than we know him; we must remember him more often than we remember him; we must serve him more valiantly than we serve him.”

At that time, I had been concerned with how to be a better missionary. This was the answer: to know Christ, to remember Him, and to serve Him. Missionaries throughout the world are united in this purpose: to “invite others to come unto Christ by helping them receive the restored gospel through faith in [Him] and His Atonement” and through “repentance, baptism, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end.” To our friends who are listening to the missionaries, I add my invitation to come unto Christ. Together we will strive to know Him, remember Him, and serve Him.

Serving a mission was a sacred time of my life. In my last interview with him as a full-time missionary, President Blair Pincock spoke of the upcoming change in mission leaders, as he and his wife were also nearing the completion of their service. We were both sad to be leaving something we loved so much. He could see that I was troubled by the thought of not being a full-time missionary. He was a man of great faith and lovingly taught me as he had for the previous two years. He pointed to the picture of Jesus Christ above his desk and said, “Elder Olsen, it is all going to be OK because it is His work.” I felt reassured knowing that the Savior will help us, not just while we are serving but always—if we will let Him.

Sister Pincock taught us from the depths of her heart in the simplest Spanish phrases. When she said, “Jesucristo vive,” I knew it was true and that He lived. When she said, “Elderes y hermanas, les amo,” I knew that she loved us and wanted us to follow the Savior always.

My wife and I were recently blessed to serve as mission leaders to labor with the outstanding missionaries in Uruguay. I would say that these were the best missionaries in the world, and I trust that every mission leader feels that way. These disciples taught us every day about following the Savior.

During regular interviews one of our great sister missionaries walked into the office. She was a successful missionary, an excellent trainer, and a dedicated leader. She was looked up to by her companions and loved by the people. She was obedient, humble, and confident. Our previous visits focused on her area and the people she was teaching. This visit was different. As I asked her how she was doing, I could tell she was troubled. She said, “President Olsen, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I will ever be good enough. I don’t know if I can be the missionary that the Lord needs me to be.”

She was a remarkable missionary. Excellent in every way. A mission president’s dream. I had never worried about her abilities as a missionary.

As I listened to her, I struggled to know what to say. I silently prayed: “Heavenly Father, this is an outstanding missionary. She is Yours. She is doing everything right. I don’t want to mess this up. Please help me know what to say.”

The words came to me. I said, “Hermana, I am so sorry you are feeling this way. Let me ask you a question. If you had a friend you were teaching who felt this way, what would you say?”

She looked at me and smiled. With that unmistakable missionary spirit and conviction, she said, “President, that is easy. I would tell her that the Savior knows her perfectly. I would tell her that He lives. He loves you. You are good enough, and you’ve got this!”

With a little chuckle she said, “I guess if that applies to our friends, then it also applies to me.”

My sister reads her scriptures every night for seminary. I try to read my scriptures each night now, too. One night my sister and I decided to watch a movie and sleep downstairs. After the movie I felt afraid and went upstairs to sleep in my bed. I couldn’t go to sleep, so I listened to Primary songs. Then I read my scriptures. I was able to fall asleep without feeling scared. The Primary songs and scriptures made me feel peaceful and happy.Rachel Cottle, age 9, West Bountiful, Utah

A few years ago I drove to Temple Square in Salt Lake City to meet an acquaintance of the missionaries. Their guest did not keep the appointment. My response to the missionaries was, “The Lord will provide someone for us to teach.” In less than two to three minutes, two adult men walked through the front door of the North Visitors’ Center and directly up to us. They spoke Spanish, and we did not! We assured them the best we could that someone would be able to help them. In moments, the only Spanish-speaking sister missionaries in the entire mission arrived at the visitors’ center because they felt impressed to come there that morning!

Over a period of several weeks the missionary discussions were taught to those men, and they asked to be baptized. The Lord was true to His word. “An effectual door” was opened in the very moment it was needed for this beautiful experience.

I just finished reading “When a Friend Dies” in the April 1987 issue, and I really feel strongly to write and thank you for this article. Two weeks ago four of my friends died in an accident. When I heard what had happened, I was totally shocked. Then it sank in and pain and emptiness just overwhelmed me. That day when I went to school everyone was upset and felt the same sense of loss that I felt.
But the understanding of the gospel, my prayers, and the scriptures have helped me to understand and go on with my life.
The pain of losing such good friends is still there, and I will never forget them. But now when I have that giant question “Why?” I can go back to this article and it will definitely help me out.
Thank you so much for your perfect timing, your wonderful magazine, and the best article in the world.

“When he was older and wanted to join a baseball team, … the other [boys laughed] at him, … calling him a ‘sissy’ because he could not throw the ball between the bases. His teammates teased him so much that … he … made up his mind that he was going to play with the nine who would win the championship of the Territory of Utah. He purchased a baseball and practiced hour after hour, throwing at a neighbor’s old barn. Often his arm would ache so much he could hardly … sleep at night. He kept on practicing and … improving and advancing from one team to another until he finally [succeeded] in playing [on the team that] won the [territorial] championship!”

In a stake conference in Palmerston North, New Zealand, a few months ago, I invited a reactivated member, a new convert, and a returned missionary to bear their testimonies. When we walked into the chapel there was a Maori sitting on the stand. I asked the stake president, “Who is that man on the stand?”

He said, “He’s the one that was recently activated.”

I said, “Wonderful.”

We proceeded. When this man stood before the people, he said,

You all know me. I’ve lived in Palmerston North all my life. You know I have not been active in the Church. I would like to tell how I became active.

One day I was sitting at home. The afternoon movie was on. It was one I wanted to see. I had a big bag of potato chips and a great big drink—I was perfectly content. All of a sudden, I heard the back door open. My daughter walked into the room. She put her arm around me and said, “Daddy, will you take me to the temple?”

I said, “No, I won’t take you to the temple.”

Now, when a Polynesian says that, you know he means it. She walked around for a while and then went to her bedroom. The time came for a commercial break. I heard some crying. I got out of my chair, walked into the bedroom, and saw a pillow that was wet. I looked at my little daughter and said, “Sweetheart, what is the matter?”

She said, “Daddy, I’ve been praying for the privilege of going to the temple for baptisms for the dead and the opportunity came. The bishop invited me to go, and I promised him I would. Then I told the Lord no matter what, I would go. I had to work late. The boss wouldn’t let me off and I missed the bus. I know the Lord’s going to be disappointed and I know the bishop’s going to be upset.”

I said, “All right, I’ll take you to the temple.” [The temple is four and a half hours from Palmerston North.]

I got in the car and was so mad that I had agreed to take her to the temple that I didn’t speak to her all the way there. I drove up in front of the beautiful New Zealand Temple. She opened the door. She leaned over and put her arms around me. She said, “I love you, Daddy. Thank you very much.” She kissed me on the cheek. She got out of the car and started to walk up the steps of the temple.

As I saw that young girl walk up the steps of the temple, my life started to change! By the time she had reached the doors of the temple I said to myself, “Is this the way it’s going to be in eternity? Am I going to be on the outside as I see my family receive the blessings the Lord has promised me and our people?”

I sat without moving in that car for two hours. I did a lot of thinking and a lot of repenting. Then all of a sudden I saw the doors of the temple open. That little girl—she was radiant! It seemed like she was just almost translucent! She bounced down the steps. She opened the door and said, “Oh, Daddy, it was wonderful! There was such a special spirit there. Thank you, thank you! I love you!”

She kissed me again on the cheek. We talked all the way home about the sacred and the important things.

This Maori man continued, “That’s why I’m here. That was six months ago. And now I want you to meet my family.”

He turned a little to the side and said, “Will you stand?”

Eight children stood. He looked at each one and said, “She’s been active five and a half months. And this one has been active five months. And this one four and a half months.”

Then he said, “And there’s my angel. The one that brought me back into the kingdom of my Father in Heaven.” And he continued down the row. Finally, the last one was a tall boy. He didn’t exactly look like a Latter-day Saint. He had long hair and he still had his hippie clothes on. But his dad said, “That’s my last one. He’s only been active two weeks. Give him a couple more and he’ll look like the rest of us.”

In October 2004 the Young Women and Young Men organizations in our stake had an event called “Modesty in Dress,” based on the pamphlet For the Strength of Youth. It consisted of a fashion show divided into three parts: casual wear, sportswear, and formal wear. We asked each of the young men and young women to select three changes of clothing, and we helped them choose which clothes were suitable. We invited their leaders and parents to this activity. We emphasized scriptural verses about the body being a temple (see 1 Cor. 6:19–20) and the counsel of our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley. The activity had a positive effect; the young people in our stake are more concerned now about grooming and dressing in an appropriate way.
Teresa de Jesús Contreras de Ramírez, Mexico

The Robinsons, a Mormon family, had just moved into a small non-Mormon community. Rumors were flying as the eyebrows went up and the tongues wagged. Even the young people were speculating, and one stated, “They don’t smoke or drink; in fact, they don’t do anything normal people do!”

By the time the curtains closed at the end of the original musical production “An Example of Love,” written and produced by the Bountiful Utah Stake Young Men and Young Women, most of the attitudes in the fictional community were changed and two people were baptized. The audience thundered its approval.

The show was developed around President McKay’s statement “Every member a missionary” and was based on the scripture “But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Pet. 2:9). The story depicted a Mormon family who moved into an area where little was known of the life-style of Church members. The reaction of the neighbors was amusing as they learned about food storage containers that doubled as furniture, about a son away on a mission (they suspected he was a spy), and about eight children in the family.

I didn’t think that tithing settlement was such a big deal, but Brother Jacobs, our home teacher, seemed pretty excited about it. He and his son Brian were over and, like always, they asked for my dad’s permission to have a prayer. My dad grunted yes and Brother Jacobs gave the prayer. As he prayed, something he said caught my attention. Brother Jacobs said, “And bless Brother Johnson that he will respond to our message.”
My dad is really a good man, but he didn’t go to church or even want to talk about it. It had taken almost a year of the home teachers knocking on our door for my dad to let them in the house, but I’m glad he did.
I wondered what Dad would do. It was rare that he would even stay in the room when the home teachers were there, but he did nothing. Brother Jacobs was pretty brave to say what he did with my dad listening. He was lucky Dad didn’t leave the room.
Dad was his usual self. He was willing to talk about most things—sports, his yard, the weather—but not about the Church. We were talking about Dad’s favorite football team when Brother Jacobs blurted out, “Brother Johnson, we want you to come to tithing settlement.”
I thought Brother Jacobs had made a big mistake because Dad got very quiet and looked uncomfortable. Finally he said, “Why should I come to tithing settlement? I don’t pay tithing.”
Now I got quiet and felt uncomfortable. How was Brother Jacobs going to answer Dad’s question?
Brother Jacobs said, “Because the Lord loves you.” Brother Jacobs said the bishop had asked all the home teachers to go to every member and invite them to tithing settlement. He told Dad that he wanted him to go because he wanted our family to have the blessing of going. My dad got quiet again.
Brother Jacobs told Dad that tithing settlement was a simple way for the Lord to bless our lives. If we paid tithing or not the Lord would bless us for going to tithing settlement. Tithing settlement only takes a few minutes, he said, and the bishop does not make anyone feel ashamed or guilty. Brother Jacobs also promised that if Dad took his family to tithing settlement, he would have a happier home and each one of his family would become a better person.
Dad didn’t say much. He really loves us and wants to do what is right for us. When Brother Jacobs asked if he would go to tithing settlement, Dad said yes.
The end of the month came, and my Dad took us to tithing settlement. Just before the bishop called us in, I wondered what Dad was thinking. He was awfully fidgety. I think he didn’t want to be there. I remembered Brother Jacob’s promise and wondered if our lives would change.
When the bishop asked us in, he greeted Dad like his best friend. I don’t know if that made Dad feel at ease or more uncomfortable. The bishop talked to us briefly, then asked my youngest sister, Suzie, if she knew what tithing was.
Suzie said yes, tithing was when you get ten coins, you give one to the bishop. The bishop said that was true, but it was the Lord’s money and he, as the bishop, received it for Him. The bishop asked Suzie if she had received any money this year. Suzie said she had gotten some money for her allowance. The bishop asked Suzie if she paid a full tithing. She said yes.
The bishop then asked Maggie, my older sister, if she was a full-tithe payer. Maggie said yes like she was Joan of Arc going off to be burned. She said every bit of money she got was tithed and she was a full-tithe payer. Maggie was always too dramatic.
Now it was my turn to say if I was a full-tithe payer. I was about to say yes, but then I remembered that I had done some yard work last summer and hadn’t tithed the money I got for it. I had to tell the bishop no, I wasn’t a full-tithe payer.
The bishop asked me if I wanted to be a full-tithe payer. I said yes, I guess so. Then he asked if I had the money now. I pulled out my wallet and gave him what I had. It still wasn’t enough. Then I felt some pressed into my hand. It was my dad giving me the money needed to pay a full tithing. I looked at my dad and he said I could pay him back later. I gave the bishop the rest of my tithing, and he wrote down that I was a full-tithe payer. It was a pretty good feeling.
The bishop then asked my mom if she paid a full tithe. She said yes. She had tithed the money she got for watching the neighbor’s children.
It was Dad’s turn to declare. He is a proud man, and I knew he hadn’t paid any tithing this year, so I was surprised that he had come at all. What really surprised me was when my dad pulled an envelope out of his pocket and gave it to the bishop. Dad said it wasn’t a full tithing but it was a start.
The bishop became quiet. He just stared at my dad. After what seemed to be forever, the bishop told my dad he was glad that my father had set a good example for his family and as long as my father kept his promise, the Lord would keep his.
We were all pretty quiet on the way back home. I wondered what the bishop meant about promises. My dad looked pretty surprised when the bishop said it. I didn’t find out what the bishop meant until three months later, but I did find out that Brother Jacobs was right almost right away. Two weeks after tithing settlement Dad came to church for the first time in years. And he has kept going. Just last fast Sunday I found out what had happened.
It was a real spiritual meeting. Even I got up to bear my testimony. And before I was able to sit down, Dad got up to bear his testimony. He told how five years ago he had got out of the habit of going to church. Back in November he began thinking seriously about his children and how the world would affect them as they were growing up. He saw how his children’s friends were influencing them to start to do things that he knew would lead to trouble. This is what he was thinking when the home teachers came over. When Brother Jacobs promised Dad that his family would be better people if he took them to tithing settlement, he knew he had to take the opportunity.
As the time for tithing settlement got close, my dad began to think about why he didn’t pay tithing. He used to pay it and didn’t miss it at all. He only stopped paying because he stopped going to church. My dad thought that if he could believe going to tithing settlement would help his family, then he could believe that paying tithing would also help. My dad said a silent prayer where he promised the Lord that he would start paying tithing and he expected the Lord to keep his promise. Right at that moment, my dad began to change.
My dad then told the ward that when he met with the bishop, it really felt good to give, even though it wasn’t a full tithing. He learned that starting was the important part. He also told the ward that when the bishop had told him the Lord would keep his promise, my dad knew the Lord had answered his prayer. He also found out what Brother Jacobs had said about tithing settlement was true. My dad said that if he hadn’t gone to tithing settlement he would not be in church today. After going to tithing settlement my dad began to think where he was headed. He realized that it wasn’t too late to change his life, so he started by coming to church.
He told everyone that tithing was a true principle that had changed his life. And, you know something, he’s right.

When I was a sixth grader at Garland Elementary School in northern Utah, I received word that a newspaper was sponsoring a pentathlon for grade school boys. I was almost 12, it was spring, and I was anxious to join all the other boys who had signed up to compete.
As you may know, penta comes from the Greek word meaning five. Thus, the pentathlon consisted of five track-and-field events that all of the boys in the state could compete in. The pentathlon was conducted throughout the grade schools across the state. The scores that each competitor attained in the various events were computed by applying a factor for age, height, and weight. They were then added together, and winners in various categories were selected. Winners received recognition and, among other things, an expense-paid trip to Salt Lake City, where they would spend a day as special guests of the newspaper.
The five events consisted of the high jump, broad jump, shot put, basketball free throw, and the 50-yard dash.
The pentathlon was the talk of my school. Most of the boys old enough were suited up for the event. At age 11, I was a 98-pound weakling with marginal coordination. But how I wanted to do well in that athletic contest. I suppose in that respect I was not much different than anyone else as I imagined the thrill that would accompany one to the winner’s circle. I knew I wasn’t what you would call a coach’s dream. But I had studied the rules carefully, and was hopeful the factors for height, weight, and age might give me a chance.
Well, I really got into it. I found a round rock that weighed within an ounce or two of the regulation five-pound shot. I spent considerable time in the evenings when the chores were done putting the shot around the backyard.
I also dug a pit that I used to practice my broad and high jumps. I nailed some old flooring boards together for a backboard, installed a hoop, and secured it to the end of the barn. While it was not fancy it provided the facility to practice my foul shots.
I felt I was ready when the big day finally came. We began with the shot put, and I did exceptionally well for my size. My practice shooting foul shots paid off, and I scored well in that event. The high jump didn’t go quite as well. My lack of coordination worked against me.
Then it was time for the 50-yard dash. We lined up by the starter and were off. It almost instantly became obvious that I would view the race from the rear of the pack. But how I tried. I gave it all the effort I had. As I passed where the coach was standing, I noticed him turn and say something, and then there was a burst of laughter from those who stood around him.
As we crossed the finish line, I was the fifth of five runners. I resigned myself to the fact there would be no trip to Salt Lake for me that year. But the worst was yet to come. As I approached the place where the coach had been standing, one of the more arrogant boys couldn’t wait to call out, “Hey, Hansen, the coach says you run like a duck.” And there was more laughter.
Well, of course, I laughed too. But many thoughts went through my mind. I was angry, hurt, and embarrassed. When I went to bed that night, it was still on my mind. When I awakened the next morning, those pointed words came back, “Hey, Hansen, the coach says you run like a duck.”
I struggled with that situation for quite some time. I admit I had thoughts of never getting on the athletic field again. But then I resolved that I would learn to run. And I was going to show the coach and my friends—but I suppose most of all myself—that I could do it.
From that moment forward, every time I had some distance to go, I ran. When coming from the fields at noon, I ran. When the grain bin on the harvester was full and I had to get the truck to empty it, I ran. When I went to the pasture to get the horses, I ran. As I had spare time while on army duty in Korea, I practiced my running. And after returning home, I kept it up.
Though I realized I had made some substantial progress, it was not until a particular stake fathers and sons outing that I had a chance to evaluate those 20-plus years of determination. We were at a campground in the Uinta Mountains in Utah for the Saturday morning games. All of the youth had run their races when the call came for “everyone over 21.” As I lined up with the dads and others, I noticed a young man in the group who had made a name for himself in high school in the 440-yard run. I knew he would be the challenge.
Again the starting gun sounded, but this time, instead of bringing up the rear, I was in front, where I remained as we crossed the finish line. Of course, the coach wasn’t there to see it. And neither were my grade school friends—particularly the arrogant little guy with the loud voice. But this I know: winning the pentathlon could not have resulted in the self-satisfaction I felt as I shared the first prize—a giant candy bar—with my two little sons that day.
What a lesson in life I gained from that experience. I learned humility, as I was humbled. I learned tolerance, as I successfully fought back the urge to slug the boy who made fun of the way I ran. I learned patience, as I found that some things take several years of determination to accomplish. And I experienced the sweet feeling that comes from successfully accomplishing a goal.

Sonia Patrick describes herself as a mouse with a tail on fire running through a dry field. On the streets of Barbados—where the culture swings to a Caribbean beat—she makes sure everyone at the bus stop hears her testimony.
“God comes first,” she said. “I carry Him with me everywhere I go.”
Sister Patrick is among a growing number of members in the Christ Church Branch who have felt the fire of temple and family history work. They have learned firsthand what Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Anywhere you are in the world, with prayer, faith, determination, diligence, and some sacrifice, you can make a powerful contribution.”1
Sister Patrick joined the Church in 2008 after meeting the missionaries, who offered to wash her car for free. She is now known as the “bold one” in her branch on this sunny island in the West Indies.
“I grew up Christian,” she said. “I felt a spiritual pull to accept the missionaries’ offer to attend church.”
Tragedy struck three years after her baptism when her only son was killed. Suddenly, she said, “family history became very important to me.”
Opportunities for family history research and temple work were limited at the time on the island. Computers were scarce, and travel to the nearest temple was expensive and difficult.
Sister Patrick arranged for the proxy baptism of her son but remained patient over the next years. She stayed busy “doing what she was supposed to do” until a series of events came together to provide more help for her family history work.
Wheels were set in motion when Sister Jennilyn Stoffers arrived in 2022 to serve in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission office. Her call to Barbados came as a last-minute surprise. For months, she had made preparations with Church leaders to serve in Ireland, where the wet and cold of northern Europe were more conducive to her health. She had her bags packed for Ireland until she read her mission call, sending her the other direction—to the heat and humidity of Barbados.
Sister Stoffers replaced her warm wools with breezy cottons and soon arrived in Barbados. “There was a lot of adapting,” she said of the weather, the Bajan dialect,2 the culture, the food—just about everything.
“It was easy to fall in love with the members and their pure faith in God,” she said. “Everyone should experience a fast and testimony meeting in Barbados. Members know the scriptures. They are strong in their faith. They face persecution from family and society. Many are the only members of the Church in their families.”
Before long, the branch president asked Sister Stoffers to teach a class on temple preparation and family history work, a subject that fires her imagination and devotion.
A spark was struck among several members. They lingered after meetings, huddling around the branch computer, where Sister Stoffers helped them discover the richness of family history work.
Margaret Haynes was among the first to taste the spirit of the work.
“Imagine how my ancestors are reacting,” she said in reflection. “One day I will meet them. I have always felt a special feeling of being watched over by them. It brings me joy to unite my family. I feel their yearning to make covenants.”
Enthusiasm spread, and more members joined in the weekly gatherings.
“They get after it,” Sister Stoffers said. “If they need permission to perform an ordinance or need data like a birth date, they call a relative right then. There’s no waiting for a more convenient time.”
The laws and culture in the Caribbean make researching family records a challenge. “Yet,” said Sister Stoffers, “members of the branch deal with the frustrations and have now submitted more than 500 ordinances to the temple.” And more are coming.
As Church members unearthed their ancestral past, Sister Stoffers began wondering how they might experience the joy of serving in the temple on their ancestors’ behalf, given the expense of traveling to the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
Considering her resources, she remembered the youth and adults in her home ward near Ogden, Utah, USA. With their enthusiasm to serve, could they fill the gap and help their brothers and sisters in Barbados?
Photograph of Ogden Utah Temple by David Bowen Newton
Sister Stoffers’s home-ward bishop liked the plan and rallied the support of youth and adults. Soon, names from Barbados were being shared instantly on FamilySearch.
Now, as often as their schedule permits, a battalion of youth converge on the Ogden Utah Temple, where Bishop Rob Smout pulls from a stack of ordinance-ready printouts to divvy among the youth. The talkative youth grow whisper quiet as they contemplate the unusually spelled names of people with whom they have no connection but feel a spiritual kinship.
Participation has been widespread across the ward. On certain Saturdays, a family of five boys arrives early at the temple to enjoy the sunrise over the Wasatch mountains before performing baptisms.
“It’s become a ward quest,” said Bishop Smout. “It has united the ward. Many have become involved and take names routinely, including those who haven’t attended the temple in years. Others have come back into activity to participate.”
Many members in Barbados, meanwhile, have had unique experiences that motivate them to gather their families.
“As we work together, we feel a family connection,” Sister Stoffers said. “We feel a saintly joy. It is hard to describe, except that it seems to resonate in others beyond.”
“As we work together, we feel a family connection. We feel a saintly joy.”
This enthusiasm to discover ancestors has now spread beyond the branch and across the Caribbean to members on neighboring islands. Proselyting missionaries assist by meeting with members in their homes. To guide those in the far reaches of the mission, Sister Stoffers conducts virtual training sessions.
This effort on a small island in the Caribbean began with love and a desire to bless ancestors. Then came the means to learn how. The branch discovered that the work is spiritual, requiring what Elder Scott called “a monumental effort of cooperation on both sides of the veil, where help is given in both directions.”3 They proved that even in remote Barbados, a small number of devoted members can make a great contribution.
A Work Made Possible through Jesus Christ
“Many of your ancestors did not receive [saving] ordinances. But in the providence of God, you did. And God knew that you would feel drawn to your ancestors in love and that you would have the technology necessary to identify them. He also knew that you would live in a time when access to holy temples … would be greater than ever in history. And He knew that He could trust you to accomplish this work in behalf of your ancestors.”
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, “Gathering the Family of God,” Liahona, May 2017, 21.

I used to struggle a lot with scrupulosity, which is like religious Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, in a way. I struggled a lot with the scripture that commands us to be perfect. I didn’t understand how that could be possible.
For a while my responsibility to go to Church and read the scriptures kind of felt like a burden. And doing those things became not good habits but obsessively compulsive to me. But I still kept going with those things because ultimately I knew they’re good and what I should be doing.
Eventually, I learned to not think of scripture reading as a habit but to really just get lost in the words of the scriptures. I never stopped reading them, but it became less of a compulsion for me and more of something that I just love to do to feel the words of God.
I realized that Jesus Christ makes up for all our imperfections. The ultimate goal is to live with Heavenly Father and to feel the fullness of joy that only He can give. When you give Christ everything you have, you give Him your whole heart, withholding nothing. He’s then able to give you everything in a spiritual sense. I learned to give my heart to Christ, and the other things involved with being a disciple followed suit.

The last time a hurricane made landfall in Florida, USA, I was a little boy. The year was 2005. At the time we lived in Utah and were visiting Florida on a family vacation. My parents say I was not happy to wake up at 3 a.m. to evacuate when the eye of the hurricane was headed directly toward us.
The day after that hurricane passed, we woke up and went outside. My mom said the sky was a beautiful blue and the ocean was calm, but the city looked more like my little sister’s bedroom—a disaster zone.
Fast-forward to now. It’s the first week of October 2016. My family and I have lived in Florida for eight years, and there’s a hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean that’s destroying everything in its path. It’s moving toward us.
Every day we wake up, have family prayer, and then watch the news before we leave for school. My siblings and I all watch to see the damage the hurricane has caused and to track the path the meteorologists think the storm will take. The only good news about the storm so far is that school is canceled on Friday.
It’s 5 a.m. on Sunday morning, and my dad wakes me up and says it’s time to go. Just like in 2005, we’re up early and drive for several hours. I really don’t want to be awake this early in the morning, but this time we aren’t running away from a hurricane—we’re going toward its aftermath.
We’re driving a vehicle filled with chainsaws, gas cans, wheelbarrows, ladders, and a bunch of other tools. Hundreds of members of our stake are headed to a chapel in Daytona Beach, an area hit hard by the hurricane, to meet up with nearly 1,500 other Latter-day Saints from other stakes across the state.
The closer we get to Daytona, the lighter it gets outside, and we can actually start to see around us. Everything is a mess. Most of the businesses are closed, even the ones that are usually open 24 hours (yes, even McDonald’s!). Very few of the gas stations are open for business, and if they are, they don’t have any gas. Billboards on the side of the road are torn apart. The frames holding highway street signs have been twisted and snapped. Fallen trees and other debris litter the roadways, businesses, and people’s homes. The destruction is overwhelming at times.
At the chapel, volunteers from each ward are organized into teams of 10–15. It’s Sunday, so inside we can still go in and partake of the sacrament. Outside, we each get a uniform: a Mormon Helping Hands yellow T-shirt. Then each team is given their service assignment.
The two teams from our ward are assigned to go work in Flagler, about 15 miles north. We drive to the courthouse to meet with county officials, who have a long list of homes and businesses that need assistance.
Our team has to navigate roadblocks and downed power lines on our way to the first home, which the county officials said has a large tree that has fallen in the yard. After we arrive, I jump out of the vehicle and take my saw in hand. I can’t believe how big the tree is. But in less than 15 minutes we have completely cut it up and piled the pieces by the road for pickup. One of the most special times of the day is when we have a prayer with the home’s family before we move on to the next home.
We travel from home to home and even make a stop at the local First Methodist Church, clearing fallen trees and helping them repair the damage. We finish up just before their Sunday worship service. The reverend comes out to personally thank each one of us, then offers up a beautiful prayer asking the Lord to bless us for our service.
By lunchtime, both teams from our ward have completed all of the assignments we were given. I’m exhausted, but there are still plenty of people in the area we can serve. We take a short break for lunch, and then we begin looking for the next person to help.
We only have to drive past a few homes before we find that person. The rest of the day goes like this: we look for a home in need, we stop, we ask if they need help, we help, we pray with them, and then we look for the next person. Every time we finish helping someone, a member of our group says, “Let’s find just one more home.”
It’s hot outside, and we’re dirty, sweaty, hungry, thirsty, tired, and sore. But at some point during the day, I think we all forgot about how hard the work was because we were having so much fun serving. And at the end of the day, we all look around at each other and notice two things in common.
First, our actual “Mormon helping hands” had become filthy from the work we’d accomplished, but we’re all proud of it. It’s our badge of honor.
The second thing is that we are all smiling. It reminds me that we are all blessed to be a part of this great Church, where we are taught the importance and the benefit of Christlike service.
It was the most exhausting Sunday of my life, but the great thing about this on-the-job Sunday School lesson is that we were living our Christian convictions at the same time we were learning them.

Truman was among the first group of Saints to enter the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. Two years earlier he had been told in a patriarchal blessing that “thy calling is more particularly to labor in assisting the Saints to build cities and temples than traveling abroad to preach the gospel.” His abilities as an architect were recognized by President Brigham Young, and soon Truman was busy designing homes, schools, churches, a sugar factory, forts, stores, a penitentiary, a theater, a governor’s mansion, and most importantly, temples.

Many beautiful buildings still stand today as proof of Truman Angell’s architectural talent. The Salt Lake and St. George temples, Brigham Young’s Beehive House, the Lion House, and the Eagle Gate are just a few examples of his work.

Truman considered his work a calling rather than a job. Most workers donated a tenth of their time to Church projects, but full-time workers like Truman were paid in tithing scrip, which could be exchanged for groceries, clothing, and other necessities.

Truman studied architectural design and innovations in building. The constant pressure of being the Church’s architect was strain on his health, so Brigham Young called him to serve a mission in Europe. There he was not only to preach to the people, but also to visit the great buildings and study the architectural styles. He had been on his mission for thirteen months when he was called to return to help with the Salt Lake Temple.

Work on the temple did not progress very rapidly at first. There were several delays, such as the time United States President James Buchanan sent federal troops to Utah with a new governor to replace Brigham Young. The Saints, remembering the mob violence of the East, were not going to allow their new homes and lands to be plundered again. They stripped their homes of valuables and filled them with straw to be set afire if and when hostile troops came. Even the foundation of the temple was covered with dirt, making it appear to be only a plowed field. Fortunately, a peaceful settlement was reached before the troops arrived in Salt Lake.

As the building of the temple progressed, Truman sought the advice and counsel of President Young almost every step of the way. There were many details that had to be taken care of, and the work required Truman’s constant supervision. All his efforts were devoted to serving the Lord, despite constant poor health and personal heartaches.

Truman Angell did not live to see the completion of the beautiful Salt Lake Temple. It was dedicated in April 1893, and this year marks the 100th anniversary of that great event. This majestic structure stands as a monument to Brother Angell’s and other Saints’ dedication in building the Lord’s kingdom here on earth.

While she was still very young, Louisa began working as a seamstress and as a housemaid. Whatever money she earned Louisa gave to help support her family. At about the age of sixteen Louisa began teaching school also. The same barn where her first play had been presented now became her classroom. Her students delighted in the fairy tales Louisa made up to entertain them. Louisa’s first book, Flower Fables, was a collection of these tales.

“Recently I was able to travel with more than 100 other young men and young women from the Hamburg Germany Stake to the Frankfurt Germany Temple to do baptisms for the dead and to attend a youth conference. The trip, however, didn’t start out exactly as I had thought it would.
“We stayed in a youth hostel in Bad Homburg. The hostel is a really old building with dim rooms and old furniture. Some of the youth in our group, who had expected the comforts of home, were disappointed by their first impressions and wanted to go home.
“Our feelings began to improve, however, as we became involved in the activities and workshops of the conference. Each morning we had a devotional in which many of our personal questions were answered. And one evening we had a fireside with Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Seventy, who is a member of our Area Presidency.
“During the rest of the trip, I didn’t hear anything else about going home. As we became more unified in our purpose, the worldly environment as well as the just-for-fun activities became less and less important. I frequently had the feeling that a lot of us had come on the temple trip actually hungry for spiritual experiences. Many of us had those righteous desires fulfilled by our experiences in the temple. Tears of gratitude were shed, and friendships became stronger. Nowhere on this earth have I felt closer to Heavenly Father than in the baptistry in the temple. How marvelous it will be when I can go to the temple and receive my own endowment and enter the celestial room!
“At youth conference and in the temple, we felt the Spirit of the Holy Ghost. When we returned home, we took many memories with us—not of our less-than-ideal accommodations, but of the Spirit we had felt in our hearts.”—Julia Hardell, Hamburg Germany Stake

Not long after we were married, we built our first home. We had very little money. I did much of the work myself. It would be called “sweat equity” today. The landscaping was entirely my responsibility. The first of many trees that I planted was a thornless honey locust. Envisioning the day when its filtered shade would assist in cooling the house in the summertime, I put it in a place at the corner where the wind from the canyon to the east blew the hardest. I dug a hole, put in the bare root, put soil around it, poured on water, and largely forgot it. It was only a wisp of a tree, perhaps three-quarters of an inch in diameter. It was so supple that I could bend it with ease in any direction. I paid little attention to it as the years passed.
Then one winter day, when the tree was barren of leaves, I chanced to look out the window at it. I noticed that it was leaning to the west, misshapen and out of balance. I could scarcely believe it. I went out and braced myself against it as if to push it upright. But the trunk was now nearly a foot in diameter. My strength was as nothing against it. I took from my toolshed a block and tackle. Attaching one end to the tree and another to a well-set post, I pulled the rope. The pulleys moved a little, and the trunk of the tree trembled slightly. But that was all. It seemed to say, “You can’t straighten me. It’s too late. I’ve grown this way because of your neglect, and I will not bend.”
Finally in desperation I took my saw and cut off the great heavy branch on the west side. The saw left an ugly scar, more than eight inches across. I stepped back and surveyed what I had done. I had cut off the major part of the tree, leaving only one branch growing skyward.
More than half a century has passed since I planted that tree. My daughter and her family live there now. The other day I looked again at the tree. It is large. Its shape is better. It is a great asset to the home. But how serious was the trauma of its youth and how brutal the treatment I used to straighten it.
When it was first planted, a piece of string would have held it in place against the forces of the wind. I could have and should have supplied that string with ever so little effort. But I did not, and it bent to the forces that came against it.

How might such feelings of hunger apply to the gospel? How hungry are we to live the gospel? Whenever I hear the phrase “hunger and thirst after righteousness,” I recall an experience with BYU students in Mexico some years ago. Students were assigned to wards and branches in several towns. One day I accompanied two students on their visits to a village to teach Relief Society sisters in their homes. The bus dropped us off by the side of the highway, and we headed up the hot, dusty path to the village. We walked uphill for at least an hour, spent several hours in the village, then walked back to the highway to catch the bus.

We each carried a canteen of water with us, but for some reason I didn’t have enough. I don’t remember the name of the village or what we taught that day, but I still remember how desperately thirsty I was by the time we got to town. How often do I—do we—hunger and thirst after righteousness? How grateful are we when we have been spiritually fed?

Our third part of the formula is: Fill your heart with love. I remember watching on television a very exciting baseball game between evenly matched teams. One of the teams had one of the greatest home-run hitters of all time. After the game a reporter interviewed him. He didn’t talk too much about home runs or runs batted in. He talked about his father. The ball player was Hank Aaron. He did not have very much of this world’s goods when he was a young boy, but he loved baseball. It consumed his life. He said that he and his father used to sit in an old, abandoned car that was in the rear of their lot and talk for hour after hour.

One day Hank said to his dad, “I’m going to quit school, Dad. I’m going to go to work so I can play baseball.”

And Herbert Aaron said to his son, “My boy, I quit school because I had to, but you’re not going to quit school. Every morning of your young life I’ve put 50 cents on the table, that you might buy your lunch that day. And I take 25 cents with me, that I might buy my lunch. Your education means more to me than my lunch. I want you to have what I never had.”

Hank Aaron said that every time he thought about that 50-cent piece that his father put on the table every day, he thought how much that 50 cents meant to his father. It conveyed to him how much his schooling meant to his father. Hank Aaron said, “I never had too much difficulty staying in school when I reflected upon the love my father had for me. As a result of reflecting upon the love of my father, I obtained my schooling and played a lot of baseball.”

That was putting it mildly from the greatest home-run threat that ever stepped up to a baseball diamond—Henry Aaron.