Gospel Story Finder

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 addition to the LDS recipients, there was at least one Scout recognized who came from an LDS-sponsored troop but who is not a member of the Church. John C. Eisenhart received a Medal of Merit for saving his grandfather’s life when the grandfather fell from a six-foot ladder and fractured his skull. John used a handkerchief compress to stop the bleeding, and then called an emergency squad. The wound required 61 stitches. “I was glad that I had had my Boy Scout first aid training,” John said. He is senior patrol leader of Troop 51, Newark Ward, Columbus Ohio East Stake.

The smell of freshly cooked bacon filled the cabin where the sisters of our young single adult ward had gathered for a Relief Society overnighter. As I lay in bed trying to wake up from a short night’s sleep, I heard the sisters begin to gather in the kitchen for breakfast. I heard their familiar voices laughing, talking, and then laughing some more. As I listened to the happy noise, I felt a surge of love for these amazing women. I smiled as I thought to myself, “This is the sound of Relief Society.”
I then reflected on all the other wonderful sounds that remind me of Relief Society: a sister sharing her heartfelt testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, the voices of many sisters blending as we sing hymns together, a tender visiting teaching lesson, the hum of a sewing machine as we participate together in a service project, and the tears we shed as we share one another’s sorrows. These are just some of the many wonderful sounds that remind me of the Lord’s organization for women.
But that morning in the cabin, as I lay there listening to my sisters laughing and talking, I realized what was my favorite sound of all: the sound of righteous women rejoicing together, loving each other, and celebrating our common sisterhood as daughters of a loving Heavenly Father. To me, that is truly the sound of Relief Society.

BYU and its departments have developed many programs designed to make each major challenging and relevant to the professional goals of the student. For example, the University Studies program allows students whose needs aren’t met by existing majors to design their own programs. One girl wanted to be woman’s page editor for a newspaper. Instead of majoring in communications, which would be the usual procedure, she outlined a unique program that fit her particular needs. After completing her general education requirements, she spent 15 hours in foods and nutrition, 15 hours in clothing and textiles, 15 hours in home economics, and 15 hours in photography and journalism. She graduated with exactly the training she needed for the job she wanted.

When I was five years old, my mother bought me a pet turtle. One day I was outside playing with my turtle, watching it slowly crawl through the tall blades of grass. Suddenly a loud noise distracted me, and I looked away. When I looked back my turtle was gone!
I searched and searched, but I couldn’t find the turtle. Then I remembered that my mother had taught me that Heavenly Father answers our prayers. I knelt on the lawn and asked Heavenly Father to help me find my turtle.
I finished my prayer, opened my eyes, and looked down. I expected to see my turtle. But it wasn’t there. And no matter where I looked or how much I prayed, I never did find my turtle.
I told my mom what happened and asked if I could have a new turtle. She said yes, but when she went back to the pet store, they had no more turtles. She found out that all the turtles at the store, including mine, had been infected with a disease that could have made me and my family members very sick.
Now, many years later, I can see that it was a great blessing that I didn’t find my turtle. I know now that Heavenly Father answers all our prayers. He knows what is best for us. Sometimes the answer is, “Yes.” Sometimes the answer is, “No.” Often the answer is, “No, because I have something better for you. Just be patient.”

In 1831, Joseph and Emma traveled to Kirtland, Ohio. When they reached the Newel K. Whitney and Co. store, Joseph jumped out of the sleigh to greet a Church member he had never met.
Newel K. Whitney! Thou art the man!
You have the advantage of me. I could not call you by name as you have me.
I am Joseph the Prophet. You’ve prayed me here. Now what do you want of me?
Joseph had seen a vision of the Whitney family praying for him to come to Kirtland. He recognized Brother Whitney from the vision.
Joseph and Emma stayed with Brother and Sister Whitney for a few weeks.

We had committed ourselves to the rapids. The current was so powerful that there was no other choice but to take whatever the river had to give. Then suddenly the churning, splashing boiling subsided. Everything seemed to stand still for an instant. The wind calmed, the river smoothed itself, the pace of our heartbeats relented a bit, and our breathing returned, almost, to normal. What we saw in the next instant frightened us much more than the rapids had—a smooth line of water reaching from one bank to the other, a line that could mean only one thing: waterfall!
There had been no indication of a waterfall on our maps, but it was a little late to worry about that. In this largely unexplored area of Canada’s Northwest Territories, there were often surprises. About all we had time to do was pray and go over.
Luckily, the drop wasn’t too severe. But the huge waves and their back twist at the bottom were more than our canoe could handle, and we were spewed into a 38-degree bath of ice water. We both knew that we had less than ten minutes to make it to shore or we would freeze. It was a tremendous test of strength, endurance, and determination, but somehow we dragged ourselves and our boat onto the rocks before we collapsed.

One day, my mom needed to take me to urgent care because the blisters had an infection. I was so scared. I didn’t want to get in the car. My mom knew I was scared. She told me about when Joseph Smith was my age. When Joseph Smith was seven years old, he had an illness that required the doctor to do surgery on his leg. He was scared too, but he knew that Heavenly Father was with him and would help him. The doctor took nine pieces of bone out of his leg! I was so surprised. He was brave. If he could do that, I knew that I could get in the car and go to the doctor. I would be brave, and Heavenly Father would help me with the pain I was feeling.

Approximately 18 months ago, in the fall of 2017, my 64-year-old brother Mike informed me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He also told me that he had received a priesthood blessing from his home teacher and that he had met with his bishop. He later texted me a picture of the Oakland California Temple taken from the hospital where he was receiving treatment, with the caption “Look what I can see from my hospital room.”
I was as surprised by his comments about home teachers, priesthood blessings, bishops, and temples as I was about the cancer. You see, Mike, a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, hadn’t regularly attended church for close to 50 years.
As a family, we were almost as intrigued with his spiritual progress as we were with his progress in fighting the cancer, largely because of his now frequent questions about the Book of Mormon, the sealing power, and life after death. As the months passed and the cancer spread, a need for additional and more specialized treatment eventually brought Mike to Utah and the Huntsman Cancer Institute.
Shortly after his arrival, Mike was visited by John Holbrook, the ward mission leader of the ward that served the care facility where he was now living. John commented that “it was obvious to me that Mike was a son of God” and that they quickly developed a bond and a friendship, which led to John becoming Mike’s de facto ministering brother. There was an immediate invitation to have the missionaries visit, which my brother politely declined, but a month into their friendship, John asked again, explaining to Mike, “I think you’d enjoy hearing the gospel message.” This time the invitation was accepted, leading to meetings with the missionaries, as well as visits with Bishop Jon Sharp, whose conversations eventually led to Mike receiving his patriarchal blessing, 57 years after his baptism.
In early December of last year, following months of procedures, Mike decided to stop the cancer treatments, which were causing severe side effects, and to just let nature take its course. We were informed by his doctor that Mike had approximately three months to live. In the meantime, the gospel questions continued—as did the visits and support of his local priesthood leaders. On our visits with Mike, we often saw an open copy of the Book of Mormon on the bedstand as we discussed the Restoration of the gospel, priesthood keys, temple ordinances, and the eternal nature of man.
By mid-December, with his patriarchal blessing in hand, Mike actually appeared to be gaining strength, and his prognosis of at least another three months seemed likely. We even made plans for him to join us for Christmas, for New Year’s, and beyond. On December 16, I received an unexpected call from Bishop Sharp, who informed me that he and the stake president had interviewed Mike, had found him worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, and asked when I would be available to participate. The ordinance was scheduled for that Friday, December 21.
When the day arrived, my wife, Carol, and I arrived at the care facility and were immediately met in the hallway near his room and informed that Mike had no pulse. We entered the room to find the patriarch, his bishop, and his stake president already waiting—and then Mike opened his eyes. He recognized me and acknowledged that he could hear me and was ready to receive the priesthood. Fifty years after Mike had been ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, I had the privilege, assisted by his local leaders, to confer the Melchizedek Priesthood and ordain my brother to the office of elder. Five hours later, Mike passed away, crossing the veil to meet our parents as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood.
John, who was Mike’s friend, ministering brother, and a former mission president, used to tell his missionaries that “if someone is on a list that says ‘not interested,’ don’t give up. People change.” He then told us, “Mike changed mightily.” John was first a friend, providing frequent encouragement and support—but his ministering didn’t stop at friendly visits. John knew that a minister is more than a friend and that friendship is magnified as we minister.
Knowing that he would soon die, my brother Mike commented, “It’s amazing how pancreatic cancer can make you focus on what’s most important.” Thanks to wonderful men and women who saw a need, did not judge, and ministered like the Savior, it wasn’t too late for Mike. For some, change may come sooner; for others, perhaps beyond the veil. However, we must remember that it is never too late and no one has ever wandered so far from the path that he or she is beyond the reach of the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ, which is limitless in its duration and scope.

Young Harold learned what it meant to listen to the voice of the Lord from an experience he had with his father. “I think maybe I was around ten or eleven years of age … , trying to spend the day busying myself until my father was ready to go home. Over the fence from our place were some tumbledown sheds that would attract a curious boy, and I was adventurous. I started to climb through the fence, and I heard a voice … calling me by name and saying, ‘Don’t go over there!’ I turned to look at my father to see if he were talking to me, but he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no person in sight. I realized then, as a child, that there were persons beyond my sight, for I had definitely heard a voice. Since then, when I hear or read stories of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I too have known what it means to hear a voice.”
This experience with the watch-care of the Holy Spirit impressed Harold that safe passage to Heavenly Father’s kingdom depends on our willingness to hear and obey that voice. “I have learned something of what the Spirit has taught,” he later reflected, “and I know now that … security can come to Israel only when they keep the commandments, when they live so that they can enjoy the companionship, the direction, the comfort, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit of the Lord.”

“I had never supposed there would be no icons in a church, or that there would be a kitchen, showers, a gymnasium, a huge room with an organ, and many classrooms,” recalls Andrei Semionov of his first Church meeting in Finland.
Andrei had met Latter-day Saints shortly after beginning work as a doctor in Vyborg, a Russian city close to Finland. In the summer of 1989 Andrei took a canoe trip with a Finnish Latter-day Saint couple—Aimo and Nellie Jäkkö. Campfire discussions about God and faith touched Andrei. He had been troubled by questions about life’s purpose, the meaning of evil, and the possibility of an afterlife. The Jäkkös invited Andrei to attend Church services in Lappeenranta in Finland. There he met full-time missionaries.
“I tried to hold to materialist positions as before, but my eternal questions continued to bother me,” Andrei writes of his discussion with the missionaries. “It was then that the seed, of which I later read in the book of Alma, fell into my soul [see Alma 32:28–43]. I took with me from Lappeenranta this ‘good seed’ in my soul and a Book of Mormon in my travel bag.”
During a second trip to Lappeenranta, the missionaries nourished Andrei’s faith. Of that visit, he writes, “The last prejudices and reservations I had in my heart in relation to a foreign church disappeared.”
When he returned to Vyborg, he studied the Book of Mormon. “I realized that a human mind did not have the power to create such a thing. I knew almost nothing about Joseph Smith himself, his education or intellectual qualities, but I didn’t need to know anything at all about them. I knew these words were not of man but of God.”
Andrei attended a conference with 15 Leningrad Saints in February 1990: “I kept thinking, Could I go on with my life without these people, without the excitement in my heart and the chills that run down my spine when I pray and read the scriptures? All my doubts vanished when Jussi Kemppainen [a counselor in the mission presidency] approached me after the conference and said, ‘I think you are ready to be baptized. What do you think?’ The words immediately escaped my lips—I didn’t even have time to think—and I heard my response: ‘Yes, of course I am ready.’” He was baptized that day.
A month later Andrei was ordained an elder and set apart as branch president. He soon baptized his wife, Marina.
Changes in the couple’s life brought many blessings and opportunities. “A special joy came into our lives after we were sealed for eternity in the Stockholm Sweden Temple,” President Semionov writes. “During the past two and a half years I’ve been to this temple with every group from Russia, and I try to help my brothers and sisters prepare to enter the eternal world.”2
President Semionov served with distinction as a branch president; he also served as the first district president in Vyborg. On 4 May 1996, under the direction of Elder Neuenschwander, then president of the Europe East Area, President Andrei Semionov dedicated the first Latter-day Saint chapel in Russia.

I had an extremely frightening experience several years ago while flying from Reno, Nevada, to San Rafael, California, with a friend in his twin-engine Aztec airplane.
When we left Reno, the weather was a little cloudy, and my friend was somewhat worried about it. Because of his concern, we landed at the Lake Tahoe airport to get a second report on the weather. It did not indicate that the weather was too bad, so we continued our flight to San Rafael.
Our destination was an airport in the northern part of San Francisco Bay. As we approached the Bay area, the clouds became increasingly low and dense. We tried to stay under the clouds so we could see the water and thus keep our bearings visually. But suddenly we flew into very dense clouds and could see nothing.
When you fly into such clouds, you become totally disoriented. You do not know whether you are flying straight, sideways, or upside down. You lose your sense of forward motion, and it takes a few minutes for the pilot to orient himself from visual flying to instrument flying. At 180 miles an hour, you move a long distance in that few minutes and can get into serious trouble very quickly. Unfortunately, my friend had not flown entirely on instruments for two years.
My friend struggled intensely and was near the point of panic as he tried to recall all that he had learned about instrument flying. I knew very little about instrument flying, so I could not help him. All I could do was put my hand on his shoulder and tell him to take a deep breath and get hold of himself. The only instrument that I could read was the altimeter. I said, “We are now at 500 feet. Don’t make any quick moves; just think it out, and you can pull us through.”
It seemed an eternity before he finally made radio contact with Hamilton Air Force Base. He said to them, “I am in trouble; please help me.” The air traffic controllers had us on their radar screen and immediately began to help my friend regain control of the plane. They told us where we were and started to give us instructions to help guide us to safety.
When my friend heard the voice from Hamilton Tower, he regained a sense of confidence that enabled him to gain control. But he knew that the plane was completely out of control and that our chances of pulling out of this danger were marginal. We could easily go the wrong way. The foothills, buildings, towers, and bridges were not far away. At one time we dropped to only 200 feet, and must have been flying upside down at one time because the maps and other items in the visor above my head fell into my lap.
At the peak of this crisis, an instant replay of my entire life flashed through my mind. I thought of my wife, my seven children, my parents, my business partners, the 37 priests whom I was the adviser to, and many other things. I prayed fervently all through this crisis and made a commitment more deep and more sincere than ever before in my life. I began, “Heavenly Father, guide us out of this thick, dense cloud, and help my friend remember all he knows about instrument flying.” And then I said, “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the holy priesthood, bless my friend that he might regain control.” My prayer continued. I committed to Heavenly Father that if he would help us, I would place my life in his hands. I promised him that I would be what he wanted me to be.
Finally, we saw the lights on the runway. The white line in the center of the runway was a most welcome sight.

The missionary began: “As I boarded the plane for my mission to Argentina, I was filled with deep sadness. The fact that I would not see my family for two years overwhelmed me, and I began to sob. I cried out in my thoughts, Heavenly Father, are You there? Am I doing the right thing? I feel so alone. Suddenly, comfort, peace, and love filled my soul. I knew all would be well. I knew that God knew me and that what I was doing was right. I knew He would not leave me alone. The Spirit bore witness to my soul of these truths. I will never be the same again.”

As a boy of fifteen I was called to preside over a quorum of teachers. Our adviser was interested in us, and we knew it. One day he said to me, “Tom, you enjoy raising pigeons, don’t you?”
I responded with a warm “Yes.”
Then he proposed, “How would you like me to give you a pair of purebred Birmingham Roller pigeons?”
This time I answered, “Yes, sir!” You see, the pigeons I had were just the common variety trapped on the roof of the Grant Elementary School.
He invited me to come to his home the next evening. The next day was one of the longest in my young life. I was awaiting my adviser’s return from work an hour before he arrived. He took me to his loft, which was in a small barn at the rear of his yard. As I looked at the most beautiful pigeons I had yet seen, he said, “Select any male, and I will give you a female which is different from any other pigeon in the world.” I made my selection. He then placed in my hand a tiny hen. I asked what made her so different. He responded, “Look carefully, and you’ll notice that she has but one eye.” Sure enough, one eye was missing, a cat having done the damage. “Take them home to your loft,” he counseled. “Keep them in for about ten days and then turn them out to see if they will remain at your place.”
I followed his instructions. Upon releasing them, the male pigeon strutted about the roof of the loft, then returned inside to eat. But the one-eyed female was gone in an instant. I called Harold, my adviser, and asked: “Did that one-eyed pigeon return to your loft?”
“Come on over,” said he, “and we’ll have a look.”
As we walked from his kitchen door to the loft, my adviser commented, “Tom, you are the president of the teachers quorum.” This I already knew. Then he added, “What are you going to do to activate Bob?”
I answered, “I’ll have him at quorum meeting this week.”
Then he reached up to a special nest and handed to me the one-eyed pigeon. “Keep her in a few days and try again.” This I did, and once more she disappeared. Again the experience, “Come on over and we’ll see if she returned here.” Came the comment as we walked to the loft, “Congratulations on getting Bob to priesthood meeting. Now what are you and Bob going to do to activate Bill?”
“We’ll have him there this week,” I volunteered.
This experience was repeated over and over again. I was a grown man before I fully realized that, indeed, Harold, my adviser, had given me a special pigeon; the only bird in his loft he knew would return every time she was released. It was his inspired way of having an ideal personal priesthood interview with the teachers quorum president every two weeks. I owe a lot to that one-eyed pigeon. I owe more to that quorum adviser. He had the patience to help me prepare for opportunities which lay ahead.

1. The first Sunday after Miguel moved to a new city, his mother took him to church. They went to meet his new Primary class.
2. When they got to the classroom door, Miguel grabbed Mom’s hand. “She isn’t my teacher, Mom. Where is Sister Dominguez?”
3. Mom knelt to talk with Miguel. “We live in a different city now, and we are going to meet new friends—like your new Primary teacher.”
4. “I don’t want a new teacher,” Miguel said. “I want to go home to my old house and be with my old teacher.”
5. “I know it isn’t easy to move to a new place,” Mom said. “But some things will be the same. You will sing Primary songs, pray, and listen to talks.”
6. “I will?” Miguel asked. “What else will be the same?”
“Your new Primary teacher will teach you about Jesus—just as Sister Dominguez did.”
7. Miguel let go of Mom’s hand and sat down in a chair in his new Primary class.
8. Later …
“Mom, you were right! We sang, prayed, and listened to talks. My new Primary teacher said Jesus loves me. It is the same!”

Annie threw her paper airplane. It sailed up and over the gray block wall at the back of her yard. She stomped her foot and thought, Now I’m never going to get it back.
Just then, her typing-paper airplane glided back over the wall and landed by the patio. Annie grabbed the plane and ran back to the wall.
“Thank you,” she called. No one answered. “Is anyone there?” she asked. No one answered.
She threw her airplane back over the wall, sat on her swing, blocked the setting sun with a salute, and waited. Suddenly a different plane, made of newspaper, flew over the wall, through the swing chains above her head, and glided to a perfect landing in front of the sliding-glass door.
“Wow!” Annie reached for the plane. “I wish I knew how to make planes fly like—” Suddenly she stopped. The plane had a message written on one of the wings. “Hi, Amelia! From the Secret Pilot.”
Who’s Amelia? wondered Annie. Maybe the family who lived here before us had a girl named Amelia. The Secret Pilot sure can’t print very well. Her writing’s so scribbly, she couldn’t be very old. Or, it could be a boy. He sure knows how to make good airplanes. I have to find out who the Secret Pilot is.
“I’m going to ride around the block—OK, Mom?” Annie called.
“Not now, Annie. I need the table set for dinner.”
Annie chewed on her bottom lip. “May I go after dinner, please?”
“You need to wash your hair tonight,” said her mother.
Annie glanced back at the block wall. “May I please have a minute to do something before I set the table?” Her mother smiled and nodded. Annie grabbed a pen from the desk in the hall and ran back to the yard. On the other wing of the airplane, she wrote:
Dear Secret Pilot,
I’ll be over tomorrow.
Your friend,Annie
She paused for a minute, then added “Amelia” after her own name. She sailed the plane back over the wall and waited, but it didn’t come back.
The next morning Annie jumped on her bike and pedaled around the corner. She kept her eye on the tall palm tree in her backyard. When she rode past a park on the next street, she lost sight of it for a minute but then was able to line it up with a long, low building. It didn’t look like a house. There was a parking lot beside it, and a large sign on the lawn. The sign said, “Seacliff Retirement Home.” Annie could see her palm tree behind the building.
She went up the sidewalk and peeked through the door. As she stepped on the black rubber doormat, the door buzzed aside like the one at the supermarket.
A nurse hung up a telephone and smiled at Annie. “May I help you, dear?” she asked.
Annie walked to the desk. “Do any kids live here?”
The woman said kindly, “No children—just older people.”
As Annie turned to leave, she saw a man with white hair and a blue captain’s hat walking slowly down the hall. His hat had gold wings embroidered on the bill. Annie saw something sticking out of his jacket pocket—her paper airplane. He saluted to the nurse.
“Hi, Captain Penny,” said the nurse. “Off to the park again?”
Captain Penny nodded and patted the nurse’s hand.
“Excuse me,” said Annie. “I’m Annie Amelia. Are you the Secret Pilot?”
Captain Penny smiled with every wrinkle on his face.
“He was a pilot all right, but it’s no secret,” said the nurse. “You should see his scrapbook. Why, he even knew Amelia Earhart, the first woman to fly the Atlantic Ocean alone.”
Captain Penny took off his winged pilot’s hat and set it on Annie’s head. She grinned back at him.
“He can’t speak very well since his stroke, but he doesn’t let that stop him,” the nurse explained. “He takes his newspaper to the park every day and watches the children play.”
Captain Penny scribbled a shaky note and handed it to Annie:
Dear Miss Annie Amelia,
Some young friends and I are meeting at the park today to make airplanes. Might your mother let you join us?
Your Secret Pilot
Annie gave him a salute. The nurse called Annie’s mother, and Annie and the Secret Pilot headed for the park.

On November 3, 2024, the Ulawa Branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was officially established, marking a significant milestone in the growth of the Church in Solomon Islands.
Corey Lindley, second counselor in the mission presidency, presided at the meeting during which this new branch in the Honiara Solomon Islands District was organised.
Upon arrival, Church leaders were warmly greeted by local youth, dressed as warriors, who ceremoniously questioned the purpose of their visit.
Peter Awao, a member of the Church who had been baptized in Honiara and relocated to Ulawa in 2022, spoke on behalf of the group in local pidgin, explaining, “Mifala no come here to fait, but we only bring the good words to Ulawa Island. Mifala no come waitem any mata knife, axe or alawolo to fait weitem you fala but come and ask compassion. Mifala just came here to witness Jesus Christ is the Saviour for the world today. So please open the way for us to come in. Poro Kana Ute.”
Following the warm welcome, the Church leaders participated in a reception at the local meeting hut, where the members had been gathering. President Kwanafia, a registered ministerial celebrant, officiated the marriage of six couples, ensuring that their traditional marriages were legally solemnized according to Solomon Islands law.
Many in the group then traveled about 10 kms to the eastern side of the island to the village of Aroaha, where nine new convert baptisms were performed in a beautiful lagoon of the Pacific Ocean.
On Sunday morning, 81 members gathered early for the official sustaining of the new branch and the calling of its first branch presidency. The sacrament meeting began 10 minutes early as members eagerly waited, singing hymns and spiritually preparing for the proceedings. The formation of the Ulawa Branch was unanimously sustained.
During the meeting, the newly baptized members were recognized, and the sacrament was administered by the four full-time missionaries serving in the branch.
The Ulawa Branch recently completed the construction of a new chapel that accommodates 100 members. The chapel was built with local materials and labor. As the Church continues to grow on Ulawa Island, the faith and determination of its members are a testament to the Lord’s work in this part of the Pacific.
Ulawa Island, part of the Makira province in the Solomon Islands, is home to over 6,000 residents. It has limited commerce and electricity, but the island is a close-knit, family-oriented community. The faith of the members and missionaries on the island to establish a congregation is a testament to the people, the community, and the truth of the Saviour’s gospel.

Then there was that night in early autumn. I was lying in my bed thinking when I heard a dull thud from the direction of the bathroom. As I slid off the top bunk bed and headed toward the bathroom, I heard a quiet moan. Straining my eyes to see in the late night hours, I turned on the bathroom light. My grandma was lying on the floor.
“Grandma!” I said startled. “What happened?”
“Shh,” she answered quietly. “Turn off the light. I don’t want to wake up the whole household! I’m all right. Just give me a hand.”
As I put my arm around her thin weak body, I could feel her trembling. I guided her back into the bedroom and tried to help her back onto the bed.
As I pulled the quilts up around her face, she said, “I’m sorry I woke you up. Now you go on back to bed.”
“You didn’t wake me up, grandma,” I answered. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
The dim moonlight shining in through a crack in the bedroom curtains illuminated my grandma’s face. Her fine gray hair was straight and limp from her having to stay in bed. I suddenly noticed how thin she’d become. I remembered hugging her in her big black fur coat when I was small. She was much heavier then, almost plump.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this,” grandma said.
“Next time you might really hurt yourself. Mom would be so mad if I didn’t tell her.”
“Never mind your mom. I’m her mom, so that makes me the boss. As long as I’m alive, I’m going to go to the bathroom by myself. She’ll torment me about using the bedpan if you tell her.”
“All right, grandma,” I answered.
“What are you doing awake at this time of night anyway?” grandma interrupted, trying to change the subject.
“Oh, just thinking, I guess,” I answered.
“What do you have to think about that can’t wait till morning?”
I sat down on the bed next to her.
“It’s nothing important really. Just that old dance I went to tonight. I didn’t really want to go anyway.”
“Your older sisters sure had you dolled up,” grandma said as she took my hand.
“Oh, they thought I looked good, but I just looked like them. I felt awful. Nylons make my legs itch. The music was too loud, and it was too hot, and I can’t stand my hair fixed up with sticky hair spray. The whole time I was wishing I was someplace else.”
“Where else would you want to be?”
“Oh, it’s a place not far from here,” I answered. “But don’t tell my older sisters. They already think I’m a lost cause because I won’t sit out in the sun cooking in baby oil for hours to get a suntan and listen to the radio and try their makeup and perfume. They’re always trying to fix my hair for me too. But I like it this way. I’m sorry,” I said starting to stand up. “I better let you go to sleep.”
Grandma smiled. “I don’t sleep much at night anymore anyway.”
“Well, up in the field at the end of our street, there’s an old irrigation ditch with a big old knotty tree hugging the banks. I go up there and climb just as high as the tree will let me before it dips its top. I sit there for hours sometimes and when the wind starts up, the branches will sway and bow almost like a cradle rocking me to sleep. I love it there, grandma. I feel like I’m part of it; the trees and sweet-smelling weed grass and soaring birds, even the insects chirping in the grass seem my friends.”
I stopped. Grandma’s warm palm felt good around my hand.
“I’ve never told anybody about it before,” I said, looking into her eyes. “Sometimes I think something’s wrong with me. I’m supposed to like parties and dances and boys now. My sisters think I’m hopeless. I don’t know if I’m scared or what. I feel funny inside sometimes. I’m just not ready yet, I guess. I don’t know if I ever will be or want to be.”
“You know, I’m a tree climber from way back,” grandma said.
“Really, grandma?”
“You’re not the only one who feels scared sometimes,” grandma answered. “I’m not sure I ever told anybody this either, but, I’m not sure if it’s the worry of keeping on living or dying that scares me the most,” she answered. “I want you to do something for me. I want you to tell your mom and all your aunts and uncles to quit praying for me to die. They don’t think I know that they’re praying that way, but I do. Tell them I’m not ready to die yet.”
“Why are they praying for you to die, grandma?”
“They don’t want me to suffer anymore.”
“Are you suffering, grandma?”
“I’ve suffered worse pain than a sick body,” grandma said. “I just don’t want to die before I’m good and ready. I like living too much. Seems like life’s always pushing at a person before he’s ready to jump. So don’t you give up your tree climbing till you’re good and ready. I’m not about to die yet, so don’t you worry.”
Next thing I knew, it was morning. Grandma was sleeping next to me, breathing heavily. I tiptoed out of the room and hurried to get ready for school.

Anna Melville, 23, an outgoing young adult from San Jose, California, remembers an experience she had when she was 12 and “incredibly shy.” She went to a stake youth activity where she just stayed with the friends she knew until one friend brought over some new people.
“One of the new boys asked me a question, and suddenly it seemed like everybody’s eyes were on me, and I couldn’t think of an answer,” she remembers. “At that moment, I panicked and left the room in a hurry. I ran down the hall with tears running down my face and hid myself in a classroom until I calmed down. I just couldn’t handle the pressure.”
So how did she get where she is today? By pushing the shyness boulder away a little at a time.
“At first I would only hang out with a few people, but slowly, as I did this, I became more confident around others,” Anna says. She would tell youth that they need to stretch themselves. “Force yourself to try a new thing, and whether you’re successful or not, you’ll be better for trying it.”

“He always says ‘I love you’ at least ten times during the evening whenever the family gets together—his family always comes first,” said a granddaughter of this great man. “He helps us set a goal and then buys us a book about it. When the goal is reached, he buys us another book. Grandpa promised my brother John that if he attended all his priesthood, MIA, and Sunday School meetings for seven years, he would pay for his mission. John worked hard to reach that goal. He sacrificed vacations when there would not be an opportunity to attend all of his meetings. John reached his goal, was called to serve a mission in France, and Grandpa happily paid for his mission.”