Gospel Story Finder

When George A. Smith was very ill, he was visited by his cousin, the Prophet Joseph Smith. The afflicted man reported: “He [the Prophet] told me I should never get discouraged, whatever difficulties might surround me. If I were sunk into the lowest pit of Nova Scotia and all the Rocky Mountains piled on top of me, I ought not to be discouraged, but hang on, exercise faith, and keep up good courage, and I should come out on the top of the heap.” (George A. Smith Family, comp. Zora Smith Jarvis, Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1962, p. 54)

Whether gardening or playing, the Gándola children like being outside. They jump on their trampoline, ride bikes, and play in the trees. Shawn and Micah are great tree-climbers, and Danielle and Lucas like hunting for green pinecones. One day, their next-door neighbor pruned some branches that fell down in the Gándolas’ yard and formed a wall of leaves. Shawn made a hole through them to serve as a door, and he calls the leaf-wall his fort.

1. “Watch out! The allosaurus is going to get you!” roared Teddy as he chased Cole’s dinosaur around the couch with his allosaurus.
“No one can stop me. I’m a tyrannosaurus rex,” Cole said, bouncing his dinosaur along the walls.
2. The boys stomped through the house like loud, hungry dinosaurs until Mom brought out a snack.
3. “Who’s that on your wall?” Teddy asked, eating his string cheese.
“Jesus, of course,” Cole said.
“Who is Jesus?” Teddy asked.
Cole didn’t know what to say. He thought everyone knew about Jesus.
“He lives in heaven. And He loves all the people,” was all he could think to answer.
“OK,” Teddy said. “Do you want to go outside?”
4. Cole was kneeling by his bed that night getting ready to say his prayers when Dad came in.
“Did you have a good time with Teddy today?” Dad asked.
“Yes. We played in the sandbox and with dinosaurs. Dad, Teddy asked me who Jesus was, and I didn’t know what to tell him.”
5. Dad pointed to a picture on the wall above Cole’s bed. It was of Jesus surrounded by children. “What do you think about when you look at this painting?” Dad asked.
6. “I think about how I want to live with Jesus and Heavenly Father someday. And how Jesus treated people nicely when He was on the earth,” Cole said.
7. “It sounds like you could tell Teddy both of those things,” Dad said.
“Maybe Teddy would like to come to church with me sometime,” Cole said. “Then he could learn lots of things about Jesus. And it is fun too.”
8. Dad kissed Cole on the top of his head.
“You’re a good boy, Cole. Heavenly Father and Jesus are both proud of you. And Teddy is lucky to have you for a friend.”

When a guy I was dating opened up to me about his addiction to pornography, the first thing I said was, “How can I help?”
He replied, “Come with me to the addiction-recovery meetings. There is a support group for family and friends that you can attend.”
I knew about the 12-step addiction recovery program, but I had no idea there were support groups. I was a little hesitant at first, but I reminded myself that I had asked him how I could help, and this was what he asked of me.
During the first meeting, I took a deep breath and walked to the room where the support group was meeting. When I entered the room, I felt ready to learn how I could save my boyfriend from his addiction.
But I was surprised at what I discovered.
They handed me a book, Support Guide: Help for Spouses and Family of Those in Recovery, and we read aloud from the book during each class.
Not once did I learn how I could save my boyfriend.
Instead, the support guide’s 12 lessons showed me that before I could support anyone else, I first needed to lay down my burdens at the Lord’s feet and allow Him to heal me (see 3 Nephi 9:13)—to heal me from my own faults and struggles and to bear my pain of supporting a loved one recovering from addiction.
I realized that I needed to rely on and turn to the Savior to find peace, hope, and strength. And because of that, I feel much better equipped in being able to support others who face addictive or compulsive behaviors.
“Our priority must be to personally draw closer to the Lord,” the support guide says. “… This will place us in a better position to support our loved ones. No matter what they may choose to do, the peace and hope of the Savior can be with us” (Support Guide: Help for Spouses and Family of Those in Recovery [2017], iii).
As I continued to attend the course, I learned how much the Savior loves me and how He truly knows my situation. I also learned how no addiction will ever alter how much He loves any one of Heavenly Father’s children.
But I think the most important lesson I learned while attending the support group is I can’t save my boyfriend (or anyone else). Only Jesus Christ can. Through His atoning sacrifice, He has the power to save.
I’m extremely grateful that He is our Savior, for He knows how to perfectly succor us (see Alma 7:11–12). As we trust in His grace, I know that we will receive what is necessary for our personal healing. We will be buoyed up by Him and will be more able to support our loved ones who face addictions.
Because of the support group and ARP classes, my boyfriend felt comfortable telling me when he felt triggered because he knew I wasn’t there to judge but to love and support him in his efforts. His journey of struggle is not over yet, but I saw the improvement and change that the principles from these classes made in both of our lives. And I felt the hand of the Lord continually.

I was once called to the Relief Society presidency of my young single adult ward. I was excited to start. But after a few months, I felt discouraged. I couldn’t see any spiritual growth in those I was trying to minister to. My efforts to visit and befriend seemed to fall flat.

One Sunday, I felt like I was missing the spiritual gifts that help someone be good at ministering. My prayer during the sacrament that day was to feel assurance that I was capable of my calling. I felt impressed to ask for a priesthood blessing.

I met with my bishop, and as he laid his hands on my head, one of the first things he said to me was, “Heavenly Father appreciates the kindness you show to others.”

The Spirit washed over me, and I felt assured that the Lord was pleased with my efforts. I felt I did have a portion of the gifts needed to minister lovingly. I had just been measuring my failures rather than my successes.

Another story of a different kind of courage is told of Ruth Campkin Randall, a tiny mother who had spent enough time on the frontier to become accustomed to its risks. As a safeguard from marauding enemies around Pine, Arizona, where she lived, a stockade was built. When an Indian or other raid was reported, all the residents were to get into this enclosure for protection. This occurred frequently enough that Ruth got tired of it. Finally, when a call came for all to go to the fort, Ruth said, “No, I have been dragged from pillar to post and from the post to hell, and I am not going to the fort. I’m staying right here.”11 Others soon decided she was right; there was no longer any point in running to the fort every time some Indians were headed in their direction.

I'm thinking of a special prayer with Sister Shumway not long after we came to Hawaii. I knelt in frustration and deep resentment against a ward leader who had heaped insult and abuse on my wife. It was totally out of line, uncalled for, and I was determined he was going to pay for it. But in the prayer I experienced a total change of heart, not unlike what happened to the people of King Benjamin at the conclusion of his address. There was no more disposition or desire to do evil. Resentment and frustration were washed out of my system and replaced by a warm affection for and understanding of the offending leader, which led finally to a close friendship.

Let’s take a quick trip around the universe in the MandM 4000 Space Explorer and find things to be thankful for.
Blast off!
I’m thankful for all of Heavenly Father’s creations.
I’m thankful for beautiful things.
Let’s land on this strange planet and meet new life forms.
Initiating landing sequence. Hold on tight!
Greetings, Grandpa—I mean, strange being from the Planet Grampatron! We come in peace from Planet Earth in search of things to be thankful for.
Here on Grampatron, we are thankful for our families, especially our grandchildren.
That was a very wise alien. I’m thankful we met him.
Me too.

Recently a father of a family of six children, who has had the sole responsibility for raising the family, beginning when the youngest was in diapers, told of the struggles in raising the family alone. One night he came home from work, faced with the problems of being both father and mother and felt unusually burdened with his responsibilities. One of his appreciative little girls, age 12 years, approached him eagerly, after having laid a rock on his dresser, which she had painted at school. On the flat portion of the rock she had written, “Happiness is having a dad who cares.” This painted rock and its sublime message instantly and permanently lightened the burden of this father.

Kimo stood at the sea’s edge and watched the waves gently toss the little boats moored in the cove. He turned to his yellow dog, Paka, and scoffed, “The sea is not such a scary thing.”
With curious brown eyes, Paka looked at his master.
Kimo continued, his voice full of scorn, “Because I am only nine, my parents and brothers say that I am too young to go out in a boat by myself and catch a fish. They say that the sea will swallow me. Well, they are wrong!”
Paka whimpered sympathetically.
“I’m almost a man, Paka, but they treat me as though I were a baby.”
Kimo dug his toes into the warm ground and watched a sand crab scuttle to its hole. “If I could just go out in the boat all by myself and catch a fish, the biggest fish my family has ever seen, then they would treat me like a grown-up!”
He imagined the faces of his parents and five older brothers when he showed them the gigantic fish he would catch. At first they would be surprised; then they would be proud of him. They would visit all the neighbors and say, “Come see the large fish Kimo caught by himself. No one in our town has seen such a large fish!”
He smiled at the pleasant picture in his mind. “I’ll show them,” he told Paka.
That night, Kimo waited until the others had gone to sleep. Quietly he crept outside. The moon overhead was full, casting a creamy light everywhere. “Paka,” he called softly.
Sleepily the dog padded toward him.
“Let’s go.”
In moments, boy and dog were at the seashore. Kimo went to the small grove of trees where he had hidden the things he would need: a rope, a knife, his father’s best pole, and bait. As he handled each item, his stomach knotted into a small, tight fist. For a moment he paused. Maybe his father was right. Maybe the sea was no place for an inexperienced nine-year-old boy. Kimo looked at the cove. The boats bobbed lightly on the water’s surface.
He lifted his chin. He’d been thinking like a baby. He picked up his provisions and whistled to Paka. Together they ran across the beach and waded into the shallow water to the family boat. It was small, like other family boats, but it suddenly seemed very large to Kimo when he placed his gear inside.
Untying the rope that held the boat to the mooring pole, he reached for Paka, who was shivering patiently, then crawled into the boat. “Good boy, Paka,” soothed the boy as he placed the dog on the boat’s bottom. “Everything is going to be just fine.” He began to row away from the shore.
Before long the shoreline was just a distant white sliver gleaming in the moonlight. Out on the water, Kimo felt powerful. He pulled the oars inside the boat and reached for the long fishing pole. He baited the hook just as his father had taught him to, then cast the line far out into the silvery water.
The gentle waves had nearly lulled him to sleep, when Paka began to pace back and forth. Suddenly Kimo heard a drumroll of thunder and saw lightning shatter the sky. He couldn’t believe it—it was going to storm! “Oh, Paka,” he cried, “we can’t go yet. I must return with a fish!” He squinted, impatiently looking for the slightest tug on his line. He saw none.
Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. Kimo grew uneasy. He knew that he should begin rowing toward the shore before the storm got closer. But I can’t leave yet, he thought. Not without a fish.
Suddenly the boat was tossed and lifted higher and higher. As he struggled to maintain his balance, big wet drops pelted his head. Paka whined loudly. Another giant wave crashed over the boat, and his father’s fishing pole was ripped from his hands. He grabbed at it, but it was too late. The wave had snatched the pole, held it triumphantly out of reach, then swallowed it.
Kimo struggled inch by inch to row the small boat back to the cove. It seemed like hours before he finally made it. After securely tying the boat’s rope to the mooring pole, he trudged home, wondering what he would tell his father.
Then he heaved a sigh of relief. Of course! No one would think to ask him where the pole was. If he didn’t say anything, no one would ever know what he’d done. He ran the rest of the way home and quietly went to bed.
The morning sun finally awakened him. He could smell breakfast and hear the chatter of his family in the kitchen. A sick lump formed in his stomach. He knew that if the feeling was ever to go away, he would have to tell them everything. He rolled out of bed and, with his heart hammering, walked into the kitchen.
“Sleepyhead!” one of his brothers teased.
“Good morning, Kimo,” his father greeted him.
Kimo barely mumbled a reply.
“Hey, what’s wrong with baby brother?” another brother asked.
Kimo stared miserably at the ground. He gulped hard. “I must tell you something,” he finally said.
Seeing Kimo’s worried expression, his father nodded.
“Last night, I—” It was hard for him to tell them while they were staring at him.
“Yes,” his father gently prodded.
Kimo’s words finally broke loose. “I was tired of being the family baby. I wanted you to treat me like a man. So I decided to prove myself by going out in the boat alone and catching a big fish.”
Kimo saw his father’s face grow very grave, but he continued. “Paka and I took the boat while you were asleep. I rowed far from the cove. Then it started storming, and I lost the pole. I … I was very frightened.”
There was a long silence. Finally Kimo’s father spoke. “It is a wise thing to be frightened of a stormy sea. I would have been frightened myself.”
Kimo looked up wonderingly at his father.
“What you did last night, Kimo, was a very dangerous and childish thing.” Kimo bowed his head in shame. “However, it takes a man to accept the responsibility for his mistakes. I thank you for telling us. I am happy that I have an honest son. Now go and do your chores, and later we will decide together how you shall make amends.”
Kimo left the kitchen and went outside. Paka ran up to greet him. “I did it,” Kimo told the little dog. “Not in the way I expected to, but at least in one way I have become a man in the eyes of my father.”
And he did all his chores that day with a glad heart.

Then, on August twenty-eighth, I went out to Skull Valley, which is about seventy miles west of here. I was there with a group of two or three hundred people, most of them Hawaiians or Polynesians from other islands of the Pacific. We were there to commemorate a significant event. One hundred years ago, on that very day, about fifty Hawaiian Saints moved to this place to establish a colony and build a Polynesian paradise in the desert. Why had they come to Utah? They had accepted the gospel in Hawaii, and they came that they might participate in the ordinances of the temple then under construction in Salt Lake City.

Their prospects were bleak, but they set to work. They drew lots for homesites. They constructed houses and barns, a school, and a meetinghouse; they planted trees, hundreds of them; they planted flowers and grass, bringing the water from the mountains to the east to keep things green and growing. Their numbers increased. The cold winters and the hot summers were hard on them. Seventy-nine of them died and were buried in the little cemetery we dedicated last Monday. Their descendants, out of love and respect, have now beautified that cemetery and erected a suitable monument.

Iosepa means Joseph in the Hawaiian language. The community was named for President Joseph F. Smith, who had labored among the Hawaiians as a missionary and who loved them as they loved him.

They stayed in Iosepa for twenty-eight years, and when President Joseph F. Smith announced that a temple would be built in Hawaii, then, and only then, they decided to leave. They did so reluctantly, the women not wishing to hurry, but walking all of the fifteen miles from Iosepa to the railroad, looking back with fondness and love on that which they had created in the desert.

The green is no longer there. The streets and buildings have largely disappeared and been reclaimed by the desert. But Iosepa was not a failure as some have thought. It was a testimony to the faith of good people in the things of God as represented in the teachings and practices of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. May the Lord bless the memory of those who built it, of those who died there, and may he bless those who with loving hands have worked so faithfully to preserve the memories of the past.

As a teenager, Sister Kalombo Rosette Kamwanya from the D.R. Congo, now serving in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission, fasted and prayed for three days to find the direction God wanted her to take. In a remarkable night vision, she was shown two buildings, a chapel and what she now realizes was a temple. She began to search and soon found the chapel she had seen in her dream. The sign said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Sister Kamwanya was baptized and then her mother and her six brothers. Sister Kamwanya said, “When I received the gospel, I felt like a captured bird that had been liberated. My heart was filled with joy. … I had the assurance that God loves me.”

Several years ago I was on a consulting assignment to provide three weeks of professional engineering training in London. I was traveling with carry-ons, two large suitcases, and several boxes of workshop materials. As I was making arrangements to get on London’s underground transportation that would take me from the airport to my hotel, I heard a message that unattended luggage would be seized and individuals detained for questioning. I knew that I could not get off the train without leaving pieces of my luggage unattended. I began to pray and ask the Lord for help. Not long before my stop, I was amazed to see two young men dressed in suits with our Church’s missionary name tags get on the large train with its several passenger cars and sit down next to me! I was further amazed to discover that they were getting off at my stop! As you can imagine, I offered a silent prayer of gratitude. My anxiety in this situation may seem trivial compared to the anxiety and stress that we live in today, but it was a testimony of the Lord’s awareness of my plight and His willingness to help. I am certain that He is anxious to help each of us in our “peaceable walk with the children of men.”

I recently became employed in Bengaluru, India, a city that is far from my hometown of Chennai. I enjoyed my new job; however, going to a new branch was a different feeling. I felt like a stranger, and I missed my home branch. Then I read the article “Making Any Ward ‘Home’” in the January 2008 Liahona. I felt comforted, and I started introducing myself to many members. I received a calling and made new friends. Most importantly, I know better why I come to church. Now I look for new faces and reach out to them. Thank you for the article.
Joseph Isaac, India

I was not happy at all as a boy, but things changed when two American men knocked on our door.
As a 14-year-old, I was curious about these two Americans who spoke Japanese and introduced themselves as missionaries. After they left, my father handed me a book they had just given him called the Book of Mormon. I started reading it and felt something special, but I didn’t know what it was. A month later, I finished it and placed it on my bookshelf.
Three years later, I met two missionaries at a railway station in Tokyo. They invited me to listen to their message. I brought my Book of Mormon to our next meeting.
They began the conversation by saying, “We would like to share an important book with you.”
I took the Book of Mormon from my bag and asked, “Is it this book? I’ve already read it.”
They were stunned. Eventually, I was taught the gospel, and the missionaries encouraged me to ask God with a sincere heart if the Book of Mormon is true (see Moroni 10:4–5).
One night I thought about God, the Church, the Book of Mormon, and how I could be happy and felt something warm inside. Then I decided to be baptized.
After joining the Church, I continued reading the Book of Mormon. One day while reading, I received a distinct thought about my father’s medication for high blood pressure. I learned more about it and found out that a side effect could cause severe depression. At my suggestion, my father asked his doctor to change his medicine. His depression has been gone ever since.
The more I read, the more I believed that the Book of Mormon is the word of God. I became happier and wanted to share the truth with others.
My parents opposed my going on a mission and eventually kicked me out of their house, but I was determined. I served in Tennessee, USA. As a Latter-day Saint missionary from a Buddhist country serving in the Bible Belt of the United States, I was often asked how I could believe in the Book of Mormon. I testified that I had prayed about its truthfulness and received an answer that it is true.
After my mission, I finished school and joined a large company in Japan that transferred me to several places around the world, including Myanmar, England, and Ireland. Everywhere I went, I shared my testimony of the Book of Mormon with as many people as possible, from a taxi driver to a state minister.
The Book of Mormon has been—and always will be—the anchor of my life and my faith in Jesus Christ. Whenever I am overwhelmed by adversity, I read the Book of Mormon and overcome my difficulties with spiritual support from Heavenly Father and our Savior. The Book of Mormon blesses me every day of my life.

My mother is a very special woman. I am the oldest of eight sons, and I also have seven sisters. With such a large family, my mother had great responsibilities. The best thing my mother did for us was to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She gave us the opportunity to learn about the gospel. This opportunity changed our lives.
I remember the day we received the missionaries. I was about 10 or 11 years old. The missionaries shared a message about the First Vision. As soon as my mother listened, she was converted. She believed Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son.
We began to attend church. I didn’t want to accept the gospel at first, but the missionaries persuaded me to see what it was all about. As soon as I did, I loved it. I am so grateful for my mother. She received a testimony during that first visit of the missionaries. From her baptism until today, she never missed a Church meeting.

I have had experience with several sad situations where members - good members - became involved. There may not be a better example of a deception than pornography. Like the flies of the fly fisherman, users of pornography do not see the hook. One person I know well said to his wife, "why are you so upset? (speaking of his viewing pornography on the internet). This is not hurting anyone." They had two beautiful children. Soon however, he became involved with another woman, was excommunicated, divorced and lost the right to raise his children. As it turned out his pornography did hurt many people.

I would like to conclude today by sharing with you the happiest unexpected happening of my life so far.

I met Aaron Robertson in the fall of 2021. Our first date included a hike at Ensign Peak in Salt Lake City. When we met at the trailhead, Aaron had to change out of his cowboy boots into his hiking boots. I am pretty sure that is when I started falling for him.

Fast forward to a beautiful day in June 2022 when, with the support of Aaron’s six children, we were married. Three months later we were sealed in the Provo Utah Temple.

Talk about the unexpected! All those years, waiting, I had not imagined that I would find my eternal companion and marry at the age of forty-two. I also had not imagined becoming stepmother to six wonderful children who have generously made space for me in their lives and who graciously allow me to love them.

At the time when Aaron and I met, I had built a comfortable life. I loved working with my colleagues at BYU, spending quality time with my family and friends, and serving with the young women of my ward. I had made peace with being single and was thriving.

That being said, I felt absolute peace of mind and heart as Aaron and I discussed the possibility of building a life together. I felt the Savior with me in the choice. He gave me the courage to leave my familiar life to embrace the unfamiliar and sometimes daunting roles of wife and mother. I am so grateful to be bound to Christ! He is helping me every day to learn how to be a new version of myself.

As a couple and as a family, we have navigated a good amount of unexpectedness in our first year together. The night we returned home from our honeymoon, the children were sick with upset stomachs—every last one of them. Two of the children who felt the worst set up camp in the living room, where we had easier access to care for them. In the middle of the night, the younger of the two rolled to the edge of the couch and threw up, unfortunately missing the bowl that had been placed on the floor near her. Aaron carried his daughter to the bathroom to tend to her.

At that moment I realized it would be up to me to clean the floor. Here I was, a brand-new wife and mother just back from her honeymoon, in an unfamiliar home and facing an unenviable task. I screwed my “courage to the sticking-place” and resolved to get the job done. As I looked around for tools to use, my eyes settled on just the thing—a very wide spatula that was part of a pancake-themed wedding gift we had received. Grabbing the spatula and the bowl that had been left untouched next to the couch, I knelt on the carpet and began scraping. The child who remained in the room had witnessed the whole scene from her spot on the floor. As I cleaned, she looked me in the eyes and moaned, “Welcome to the family, Brooke.”

I have come to expect the unexpected. And I recognize now, more than ever, my absolute reliance on the Savior. I don’t know with exactness how His goodness will guide me in the years to come; I just know that it will.

When I was a young boy, my parents had a tradition of buying the children baby ducklings at Easter time. They became our pets. Near our home, in Minnesota, there was a small pond. As the ducklings grew, we would allow them to live in it. Each day I would feed them. All I had to do was whistle and they would come to me. They knew that my whistle meant easy food. As the spring turned to summer, the ducks grew bigger and fatter. They were bred not to fly. They were grateful for my free hand-outs.
From time to time, wild ducks would join them. These ducks were different. They were smaller in size. They could fly. And each winter, when it turned cold in Minnesota, the wild ducks would fly south to warmer weather. The wild ducks would never join the others when I fed them. They were afraid of me.
One day, though, a wild duck decided to join the tame ducks. He wanted an easy meal. At first, he did not trust me. But slowly he grew accustomed to my presence. He, too, began to enjoy the free meals. His life was different though. Initially, he could have it both ways. He would eat his tasty meal and then would fly off to be with the wild ducks.
After a while, I noticed a change. He stopped flying. And then I noticed why. All his free meals made him fat. He was no longer able to fly. Perhaps this story would have had a happy ending, but as mentioned earlier, winter in Minnesota brings cold, snow and frozen ponds. One day my mother told me that a man would be coming to take the ducks away for the winter. She said he had a farm and would take care of them. When the time came to say good-bye to my ducks, not only did the tame ducks go, but the wild duck was taken as well.
A few days later, I asked my mother about the ducks. She confessed to me that the man who took them was going to eat them. She just wanted to spare me the pain of telling me. I suspected that this was the case. This happened about 60 years ago, but the experience remains clear in my memory.
I remember the wild duck. This duck had freedom, but he gave it up for what he thought would be an easier life. What he thought was a free hand-out became his prison.

When my wife and I had only been married a year and a half, she was ready to deliver our first baby. We had decided that she would have the baby in the Chihuahua colonies, where she had been born. At that time I was working in Mexico City, and we decided that she would be there a month ahead of the delivery date. I was planning to join her later.
The delivery date arrived. I was at work when I received a call from my father-in-law. The news was good: “Octaviano, your wife has given birth, and you now have a little daughter who is beautiful.” So, in my happiness, I began to announce this to my friends and partners at work, who in turn asked me for chocolates to celebrate the birth of my little one.
The next day I began to give out chocolates throughout the four floors of our office building. When I reached the second floor, I received another call from my father-in-law. This time the news was different: “Octaviano, your wife is fine, but your daughter has passed away. The funeral will be today, and you don’t have time to come. What are you going to do?” I asked to speak with Rosa, my wife, and then asked her if she was OK. She replied that she was fine, depending on how I was feeling. Then we talked about the plan of salvation, remembering this scripture:
“And I also beheld that all children who die before they arrive at the years of accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom of heaven” (D&C 137:10).
I asked her, “Do you believe that?” And she said, “Yes, I do.” Then I replied, “We should be happy then. I love you. And if you are OK with that, I’ll take my vacation in two weeks, spend some time with you, and return back together to Mexico.”
We knew that one day we would be reunited with our daughter because we were sealed by the power of the priesthood in the temple. We ended the telephone call, and I resumed giving out the chocolates in my office building.
Seeing me do this, one of my co-workers was surprised and asked me how I could do this after such terrible news. I answered, “If you have three hours, I can explain to you why I am not feeling too sad and about my knowledge of what happens after death.” He didn’t have three hours at that moment but did later. We ended up talking for four hours. He accepted the gospel and, together with his mother and brother, was baptized into the Church after receiving the discussions.
I know that thanks to the power of godliness manifested in the ordinances of the temple, I will now be able to know my daughter. I will embrace her, and we will be with her for eternity, just as we are now with our three surviving children.