Gospel Story Finder

When I’m at a family gathering, I try to spend time, when appropriate, to have a one-on-one discussion with some of our grandchildren. I sit with them and ask them a few questions: “How are you doing?” “How is school?”

Then I ask them how they feel about the true Church, which means so much to me. I try to discover the depth of their faith and testimony. If I perceive areas of uncertainty, I’ll ask them, “Would you accept a goal from your granddad?”

Then I’ll suggest they read the scriptures daily and recommend they kneel down every morning and night and pray with their father and mother and have personal prayers. I admonish them to go to their sacrament meetings. I admonish them always to keep themselves pure and clean, always attend their meetings, and finally, among other things, always strive to be sensitive to the whisperings of the Lord.

Now one time after a talk with Joseph, our eight-year-old grandson, he looked into my eyes and asked this pointed question: “May I go now, Granddad?” He ran from my arms and I thought, “Did I do any good?” Apparently I did, because the next day he said, “Thanks for the little talk we had.”

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 had been a committed member of another church, but then I started studying its teachings about purgatory. This idea teaches that the soul, after physical death, is admitted to a place similar to prison, where it must be purified before going to paradise.
As I thought about suffering souls in purgatory, I reflected on my own spiritual future and my relationship with Jesus Christ. I began praying, “What must I do to escape purgatory? I want to go to paradise.”
The first thing that came to my mind was to live the Ten Commandments. I felt that if I did, the Lord’s grace would allow me to avoid purgatory. I committed to keep the commandments and began an intense period of fasting, praying, studying the scriptures, and meditating.
During this time, I felt prompted to ask an unusual question of a doctor at the clinic where I worked as chief accountant.
“Dr. Thibaut,” I said, “is the Lord Jesus Christ in your church?”
He stated that he belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. From that point on, the Spirit guided our discussion. I asked him about the differences between his church and mine. He told me about the Book of Mormon. As we continued our conversation, joy filled my heart. I felt that I was receiving answers to my prayers.
Two days later the missionaries gave me a Book of Mormon, which I read and studied with them. I found it wonderful to learn new things from the scriptures. I started obeying the Word of Wisdom.
When I realized I had lost interest in my church, where I had been so involved, I wondered what was happening. I prayed and asked God about this new path. When I did, I felt more convinced of the truth I had found. I decided to join the Church, even though I knew I would face persecution.
Persecution did come, but the Lord strengthened me. I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the answer to my sincere prayer: “I want to go to paradise.” I know I can go there after I die if I remain faithful to the commandments of God.

Amy bounced up and down in her seat.
“What are you so excited about?” Mom asked, smiling at her from the front of the car.
“It’s England Day!” Amy squealed. Mrs. Harvey’s second-grade class had been learning about countries around the world. Amy had already learned to do the Mexican hat dance and sing a song in Japanese. Today her class was having a special party with lots of English food.
“Your ancestors joined the Church in England,” Mom reminded her. “They were very brave and stood up for what they believed in.”
“Today I’ll pretend to be just like them. It’ll be fun!” Amy said happily.
When she reached her classroom, Amy stared in awe. The school chairs were arranged in a circle around a table filled with warm crumpets, lemon custard, and raspberry jam. There was even a bowl of English toffee! Amy couldn’t wait for the party to start.
But then Amy noticed something. At the back of the table, a small, blue teapot was labeled TEA. Amy felt a knot form in her stomach.
Mrs. Harvey clapped her hands for the children to settle down. “Class, take a seat!” she sang out. “Today we’re having a very special party—a tea party! In England, people drink tea and eat crumpets as a snack. Who can tell me what a crumpet is?”
Amy’s classmates eagerly raised their hands, and one explained that a crumpet is a small cake. But Amy just sat in her seat feeling sick. Tea! She knew that tea and coffee were bad for her body. A commandment in the Word of Wisdom said not to drink them. The knot in her stomach kept growing. If she refused, what would her teacher and classmates think?
Then Amy thought of a better question. What would Jesus think? What would her ancestors think? Amy remembered Mom saying her ancestors were brave people who stood up for what they believed in. They followed Jesus Christ. They had been baptized in England, the same way Amy had been baptized. She still remembered that warm, clean feeling from her baptism, and how she always wanted to choose the right.
Slowly the knot loosened, and she knew what she had to do.
When Mrs. Harvey came to pour her some tea, Amy put her hand over the cup. “No, thank you,” she said. “I don’t drink tea. May I have a glass of water instead?”
“Of course you may,” Mrs. Harvey said, and she continued down the row.
As Amy drank her water and ate a crumpet dripping with jam, she felt warm inside. She had obeyed the Word of Wisdom, and—like her ancestors—she had been brave and stood up for what she believed.

After I graduated from college, served a mission, and got married, my wife and I moved to the eastern United States, where I found a job. Through a series of what I now see as unusual experiences, I was interviewed to have a job as an engineer in a new and exciting activity: the design and development of nuclear power plants for submarines. As I look back, it should have been virtually impossible for me to get that job. There were more experienced people applying for it. It just worked out that the Lord helped me.

I learned about the power and blessings of the priesthood at an unfortunate time. A few years ago, when my little brother was 14, he wrecked on his motorcycle and snapped his leg in half. My dad called and told me they were taking him to the hospital. I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I rushed to the hospital. When I got there, I saw one of my uncles. He told me how bad the accident was.
Fearing what I would see, I opened the door where my brother was and stepped into the room. I took one step, closed my eyes, and was instantly at peace. Just as I will never forget the sick feeling I had, I will never forget the feeling of peace and comfort that came over me. I recognized the feeling—it was the Spirit.
I then heard my father speaking. He and my uncle were giving my brother a priesthood blessing. He humbly blessed his son in the name of Jesus Christ to be OK, to heal, to have his leg work properly again.
After the blessing, everyone was quiet for a while. I knew at that moment that I had to live worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and be able to perform blessings for my future children.
When we gathered in the hall outside my brother’s room, my parents started to discuss what they should do. They debated whether to leave Mexico to take him to a doctor in the United States or to have the surgery performed here. Whatever option they felt was best for my brother, I knew he had already received the best attention he could receive. He had received a blessing by two men holding the priesthood, so no matter what my parents decided, my brother was going to be fine.
They decided to stay in Mexico for the operation. Doctors put a plate and 10 screws into my brother’s leg. It healed well, and a few months later he joined a football team. The blessing was fulfilled just as my dad had said.
I know the priesthood is the power and authority of God given to men. What a great gift He has given us.

“Why do you keep saying that you know this Church is true? What exactly does that mean, and how can you possibly know that?”
My concerned parents asked me those questions when I told them about my decision to be baptized. I thought back on all the missionary lessons I had been attending recently. I remembered asking myself the same questions just weeks before. How did I know the Church was true?
For 17 years I had been content with the little knowledge I had about anything religious. I never realized how much I longed to have a relationship with Christ and my Heavenly Father and feel the peace of the Holy Spirit.
I thought back on the missionaries’ telling the story of Joseph Smith’s First Vision: a young boy seeing God and the Savior, Joseph hearing their words and knowing that what he was seeing was real and true.
Then I remembered my first prayer. Sure, I had prayed many times throughout my life, but this prayer was the first time I had asked my Heavenly Father if what the missionaries were teaching me was real and something from Him. I knew that He wouldn’t lie to me. He wants the best for His children. With that knowledge I prayed with my whole heart.
The Holy Spirit touched me for the first time. I knew that as I said “amen.” I had been told by the missionaries and my close friends who had introduced this new gospel to me that “I would feel of the Spirit, and it would let me know.” I knew that it had.
As I related this story to my parents, who had asked the questions, I felt it again. The Spirit was with me, which meant the Lord was with me also. I once again knew that my choice to be baptized was the right decision.
Standing alone in the dressing room of the meetinghouse a few months later, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Who was this girl wearing a long white gown and staring back at me? As I stood there all by myself, I realized that this was how I had made the decision to join the Church—all by myself. But I also realized I was not truly alone. The Spirit was strong. In a few moments, I would be the newest member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The door swung open, and in came my close friends, friends who had decided to share a message about their Church with me a few months earlier.
“Are you ready?” they asked.
We walked out toward the chapel. I thought again about my first prayer and the Spirit I had felt. I knew the Church was true, and because I knew that, I was ready.

I have learned, as I have mentioned in previous messages, never to postpone a prompting. On one occasion many years ago, I was swimming laps at the old Deseret Gym in Salt Lake City when I felt the inspiration to go to the University Hospital to visit a good friend of mine who had lost the use of his lower limbs because of a malignancy and the surgery which followed. I immediately left the pool, dressed, and was soon on my way to see this good man.

When I arrived at his room, I found that it was empty. Upon inquiry I learned I would probably find him in the swimming pool area of the hospital, an area which was used for physical therapy. Such turned out to be the case. He had guided himself there in his wheelchair and was the only occupant of the room. He was on the far side of the pool, near the deep end. I called to him, and he maneuvered his wheelchair over to greet me. We had an enjoyable visit, and I accompanied him back to his hospital room, where I gave him a blessing.

I learned later from my friend that he had been utterly despondent that day and had been contemplating taking his own life. He had prayed for relief but began to feel that his prayers had gone unanswered. He went to the pool with the thought that this would be a way to end his misery—by guiding his wheelchair into the deep end of the pool. I had arrived at a critical moment, in response to what I know was inspiration from on high.

My friend was able to live many more years—years filled with happiness and gratitude. How pleased I am to have been an instrument in the Lord’s hands on that critical day at the swimming pool.

It was at the height of his career as an orthodontist that Randall Kay Bennett and his wife, Shelley, felt “a distinct impression” to prepare to serve missions. This meant that they would need to sell their home right away.
The reason for the prompting didn’t become immediately apparent—it took three years for their home to sell, a process that “took a lot of patience” and required that they “show the Lord that we were really committed,” Elder Bennett says. “We continued to trust in the Lord and tried to stay close to Him through frequent temple attendance, daily scripture study, prayer, fasting, and service to others.”
Shortly after their home finally sold, Elder Bennett was called to serve at the Provo Missionary Training Center and then as president of the Russia Samara Mission.
“It was wonderful—and very humbling—to know that the Lord had been mindful of us and had been preparing us,” Elder Bennett said. “We have come to know that the Lord is aware of the thoughts of our minds and the feelings of our hearts. We have learned to trust that He knows better than we do, that He knows more than we do, and that He loves us.”

I travel around the Church a little, and I am often in a meeting somewhere other than my regular home ward. I notice as I go around that not all the teachers are using the new edition of the Bible. I had an interesting opportunity and experience recently. I was sitting in a class, and the teacher, knowing that I had had something to do with the preparation of the new LDS publication of the Bible, began to apologize to me that he wasn’t using the new Bible in teaching his priesthood class. I felt that he didn’t need to apologize to me, but he did so anyway. After the class was over he came to me and said, “I know we ought to be using the new edition of the Bible, but I’m used to these books because these are the ones I marked when I was in the mission field twenty years ago. I am familiar with these, and I have my notes and cross references and so on.” That seemed like a pretty good reason, but we walked together to the parking lot and he got in a new car and drove away. I thought, “He hasn’t kept up in the gospel and in his scripture study the same way he has in automobiles. He didn’t continue to use the same car he had used in the mission field, which was 20 years ago.”
I believe that’s what President Kimball is getting at when he says, “We have paused on some plateaus long enough.” It is now time to move ahead in some areas which the Church could not do before this time.

I depart from my text to give you an example of the blessings that flow from simple faith in the plan of salvation. About three and a half years ago a young mother, Vicki Nichols, came to my office. Something I had written had apparently helped her, and she wondered if she could visit. As the conversation began, she told me that her husband had recently died of a brain tumor, leaving her with four children. I began to bestow expressions of sympathy, but she, being strong, said, “Brother Maxwell, I am handling that, but I just learned that I, too, have cancer, and I wonder what is going to happen to our four precious children.” She is a woman of great faith, strong intellectually, strong spiritually! Sister Maxwell and I felt it a great privilege to be in touch with her from time to time in the intervening several years during which the Lord gave Vicki some prolongation of her time for the nurturing and preparation of those four children. Several days before she died, I called her in Spokane. By now her voice was very weak. She said something like, “You will understand how wrenching the prospect is of my leaving the four children,” expressing the kind of feelings that only a loving mother could have. However, because she understands the plan of salvation, Vicki said, “Brother Maxwell, can I tell you something? I am so torn at the prospect of prolonged separation from my children, but I want you to know that, nevertheless, I have a sense of anticipation about going through the veil of death.” It was a privilege to speak a few days later at Vicki’s funeral. The oldest of her children, Traci, is about sixteen, a wonderful daughter. As related to and remembered by me, soon after Vicki died, the oldest daughter gathered together her three siblings and they talked about their mother and the gospel’s plan of salvation. What a simple, yet powerful act of faith!

There is no adversity that can set aside God’s plan of salvation. It is an immense blessing to know about the plan, to believe in it, and to have faith in it.

The teacher nurses a knife wound in her back. Gladys Saiah is not much older than her students. She was running an errand for her mother in an unfamiliar part of town, when she was attacked and stabbed by a group of men. She and her sister were allowed to go without further injury.
“As my sister and I walked home,” she says, “I told Ellen we must first thank Heavenly Father for sparing our lives. We did, and then, arising from our knees, I asked Ellen, ‘Now will you please clean my back?’”

Steve Crandall sat bolt upright in bed.
“Your mother’s pains have started.” His father’s face was lined with worried creases. “Can you come help me clear the road to the highway?”
Steve was already struggling to pull on long underwear, sweaters, socks, pants, parka, boots, muffler, gloves. His heart was racing.
Shoveling snow, opening the garage door, starting the jeep, hitching the drag, swinging open the jeep door for his father—Steve fumbled with numb fingers while his heart beat with the fury of the wind swirling up the snow drifts.
Through the roar and clanking of the old jeep, his father shouted, “Take it easy, Steve. We’ll make it. Your mother has had nine kids before this, including you.”
Steve was glad to be able to hide his face in the parka hood. He was quiet for a moment. Then he let his memory wander and thought back to the time when Mom had Julie. There had been no special precautions that time; Dad had just helped Mom to the car, and they drove off to the hospital.
That seemed a long time ago and many miles away in a place where everything was so much different. This was Alaska. It was 50° F. below zero. The hospital was 51 miles away, and there was no telephone in their house. This time Dad paused to give Mom a priesthood blessing before helping her to the car. This time, Dad, Steve, and his two sisters prayed together in the car that they would make it down the road before the baby came. But this time, too, when it was all over and little Rachael took her place in the Crandall clan, 16-year-old Steve felt older somehow. It was as if he had been a part of something that was much more real than he had ever experienced before.
That is how everything has become since Steve’s family moved a year ago into their little log house in the wilds near Fairbanks. There are six other families within five miles in the woods where they live, but it is more than 30 miles into town and about 15 miles to the Eielson Air Force Base. They have no electricity or telephone, their close neighbors are the lynx, fox, and bear, and their television set is the view from their window of the Alaska Mountain Range shrouded by dense spruce forests. Life is simple.
But hewn down to its basic elements, life also seems richer. The isolation in the harsh climate has brought the family closer than ever before. Working together, playing together, worshiping together—they share more of life than ever before.
“B.J., Steve, Susan, David, Danny, Becky, Julie, Jesse … time for breakfast,” comes the call from the kitchen every morning. (Rachael is already in the high chair and Susie is away at college.) Soon the sounds of padding feet fill the kitchen, and everyone is poised for the new day. Over hot cakes the daily planning session begins. There is school for Steve and the little ones, and work for Dad at the air force base. There is work for 19-year-old B.J. (Billie Joe) and home Primary for both her and Mom in the afternoon. Then there is dinner together and home evening that night.
And there are always plenty of chores for everyone. Most of the summer is spent getting ready for the winter. And most of the winter is spent coping with the cold that can freeze bare flesh in less than a minute and the darkness that can linger into depression. With ten children and no electricity, the chores are given a twist of creativity.
The five-mile stretch of dirt road that leads to the highway is not maintained by the state, so one of Steve’s jobs is to help the men in the neighborhood pack down the snow during the winter by the use of a flat device called a drag. It seems that this always needs to be done at the least convenient times, such as when Mom is in labor or when it is time to go to church.
Another of Steve’s jobs is to keep the car from freezing up at night. “We had one garage, not insulated or anything, just plywood sides, with a wood stove in it,” he explained. “We would just pull the car in there every night, and I’d build a fire. I had to put enough wood in there so the fire would last all night. The car was only frozen up one time the whole winter.” His brown eyes glisten with pride he knows is well-earned.
Steve’s expertise with wood burning stoves has unexpectedly come in handy at other times too. When the kitchen stove was on the blink one morning, he stoked up the basement stove so his mother and sisters, huddling in their parkas, could cook hotcakes for the family in the pitch black 32-degree basement air. Some of the younger brothers and sisters were assigned to run the hotcakes upstairs before the chill reached through and through.
As the days wear on, it seems that work has a way of turning into fun for the Crandall family. Family home evening, a chore for many families, is as easy as the summer rain on the flower-dotted flat lands for Steve’s family.
One night when it was time for home evening, Steve suggested, “Let’s do something exciting tonight—like kickball or something.”
So Becky and Julie went outside to set up bases while the older girls stayed to clean up the dinner dishes. It wasn’t long before eight-year-old Becky flew through the door, her face ashen and her voice trembling in fright. “There’s a bear out there! There’s a bear out there!”
Suddenly everyone was bumping shoulders on the porch trying to catch a good view of the bear. There he was, foraging through the bushes, pausing for a moment to watch the commotion on the Crandalls’ porch. Suddenly, a neighbor pointed his rifle out the side window and fired at the bear several times. The injured bear began to lumber away. Quickly Dad and Steve grabbed their guns to help out. “You don’t leave a wounded bear up here. They can get vicious,” Dad explained.
They never caught the bear that night. But when Mom asked, “Was that enough excitement for you, Steve?” laughter filled the tiny house.
Excitement and laughter seldom leave Steve’s house. The Crandalls live life to the fullest, with an intensity that shows even in their recreation. Steve and 11-year-old Danny once entered a local 26-mile marathon cross-country race. When Steve gave out early and quit the race, Danny kept going. He finished third in his category, the youngest of the contestants. “One of us had to finish,” he said with his head bowed.
By far, Church work is given the most serious attention by the Crandalls. Everyone has at least one Church job, and so the gospel is a cooperative effort. With Dad in the branch presidency, Mom a teacher in the Relief Society, B.J. a teacher in the Primary, and Steve a member of the planning committee for the all-Alaska youth conference, the family car is kept hopping. During spring breakup, when the snow melts and the road to the highway becomes as muddy as the sludge from a gold miner’s pan, attending church services becomes a challenge. The four-wheel drive jeep is the only vehicle that can navigate the muddy stretches of road to the air force base chapel.
“There’s the whole family in that little bitty 1943 jeep,” Mom laughs. “We all get into our grubs; everybody climbs into the jeep. We strap a suitcase full of our good clothes onto the hood along with Daddy’s briefcase, and off we go to church. It’s funny!”
Church meetings are worth the effort, though. The closeness of the Crandalls seems to be shared by other families in the branch. And it spills over into the greater branch family. A willing hand is always outstretched. Making the most of each moment is their byword. One day Steve forgot his shirt for meeting, so another boy loaned him one of his. Although two of Steve could have fit into the shirt, one very relieved Steve could attend his meetings. B.J. tells of one experience she had with the Young Adults in the area:
“One night after I had not been to Young Adults for three weeks, they all came to my house for a party!” She shook her head in wonder.
The pioneer spirit shows in little ways. At dances, beneath the elegant gowns, girls wear mukluks, sealskin boots. After a shipment of fabric comes into the general store, everyone shows up at church and school with shirts, dresses, and skirts of the same fabric. And this spirit shows in big ways, too. When the hay is ready to harvest, everyone comes to help. Eggs and milk are shared by all.
“The whole branch is close.” Dad sums it up well. With little else to hold onto, that gospel love is like an iron rod in the vast wilderness. “The people up here have to live like the Mormon pioneers. They share. They work together,” Dad explains.
Steve agrees. His life is painted in pioneer panorama, but with strokes that show a Master’s gentle touch. Last year when winter was fierce, the whole family gathered in the front room, some of the smaller members in Dad’s arms. They read from the scriptures by the flickering light of kerosene lamps. Through the front window, Steve could see the bright lights of the Aurora Borealis dancing silent approval over the warm scene. This is life at its best—a candle on a very cold hillside.

A number of years ago in general conference, Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles told the story of Joseph Millett, a little-known member of the Church.
He lived in the early days of the Church and came across the plains with other faithful members to tame a desert and to find a new home. In those first years, food was often scarce. Winters were particularly difficult, and often the days stretched further than the food that was stored.
Joseph Millett wrote in his journal: “One of my children came in and said that Brother Newton Hall’s folks was out of bread, had none that day.
“I divided our flour in a sack to send up to Brother Hall. Just then Brother Hall came.
“Says I, ‘Brother Hall, are you out of flour?’
“‘Brother Millett, we have none.’
“‘Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you was out.’
“Brother Hall began to cry. He said he had tried others, but could not get any. He went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord, and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett.
“‘Well Brother Hall, you needn’t bring this back. If the Lord sent you for it you don’t owe me for it.’”
That night Joseph Millett recorded a remarkable sentence in his journal: “You can’t tell me how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew there was such a person as Joseph Millett” (Diary of Joseph Millett, holograph, Historical Department Archives, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; cited in Boyd K. Packer, “A Tribute to the Rank and File of the Church,” Ensign, May 1980, 63).

Ian Bagley’s family had been taking pictures on a lookout point at the Grand Canyon’s North Rim for just five minutes when they heard screaming. A two year-old girl, while looking over the railing, had fallen 35 feet to a ledge below. Her parents desperately searched for a way to save their daughter, while onlookers stood stunned. Not understanding the pleadings of her parents and family to stay still, her effort to climb back up resulted in her slipping further down until she was five feet from the next drop off—this one a terrifying 200 feet.

Ian describes the feeling as “pure shock,” but he is no ordinary 19-year-old. Having been trained in emergency response through an EMT program at a community college, Ian knew how to handle the situation.

He says, “Immediately, it all came at me, and I just knew what I had to do. I set down my camera and went up the trail a little ways where it wasn’t as steep, climbed over the rail, scrambled down a bunch of rocks and through brush, and found her.” Holding her in his arms for an hour, Ian waited until emergency teams could drop down with ropes. Ian’s mother, waiting at the top, remembers seeing the little girl and her son as they ascended with the help of rescuers. “I could see blond hair and a tiny face among all of the emergency equipment, and she held her hand out and it was wrapped around Ian’s two fingers.”

Before going, Ian, from the Fort Collins Colorado Stake, didn’t know why he decided to go with his family to the Grand Canyon, but afterwards he was sure he was there for a reason. He says, “I didn’t have a reason, I just felt like I should go. I was there, and I was able to save someone’s life.”

Ian felt lucky that he was there to help, but even more, he was grateful that multiple experiences had prepared him to do so. Training in the EMT program, for example, taught him to stay calm and manage risks. He says the program involves not only rigorous course work, but training that put him in emergency situations with fire trucks and ambulances. And then, after all the studying and training, he had to pass both a statewide and national test with written and practical sections.

Participating in the Boy Scouts for seven years, including two summers as a Boy Scout camp counselor, also provided Ian with valuable knowledge. He says that the motto “Be prepared” helped him realize that at every moment, he needs to be ready to offer help.

But Ian cites a more important preparation: “Knowing that there is a plan, and Heavenly Father put me there for a specific purpose. We hadn’t been there longer than five minutes, and it started happening. That really convinced me that I was supposed to be there.”

By using his skills before his full-time service, Ian is acting as a missionary now. His mother says that “even before he is called on his mission, he’s had a chance to be a missionary.” Local newspapers and news stations covering the event mention a two-year mission for the Church. In addition to all the inquiries in the community about his future mission, Ian received a letter from a state government official thanking him for his service and wishing him well on his mission.

While Ian walked away from the incident with a plaque and a medal from the National Park Service, worth even more is his testimony of the gospel. “I know there is a plan for everyone and there is a purpose for all things. Our Savior saves us in so many more ways than I could ever save someone else.”

In closing, I would like to share with you one final personal experience about feeding the Lord’s sheep.

This is my faculty photo composed and taken by our campus photographer, Monique Saenz, and her crew. I always appreciate Monique’s work. She makes us all look great, and in this photo I look better than I ever usually do. But I’m not really showing you this photo to have you admire my looks. I want to share with you the backstory of this photo.

A short time before this faculty photo was taken, I had lost my husband to cancer, and his death left me tired, sad, and heartbroken.

I was serving as a counselor in our ward Relief Society presidency at the time of his death. One day, my Relief Society president and the other counselor in the presidency showed up at my door with a box. Inside the box were two beautiful dresses. I am wearing one of these dresses in this photo. I was literally clothed in charity…in the charity of these two dear sisters.

Because of this, the photo serves to remind me of the kindness and love of these sisters, and also of the many other acts of charity that were shown to me and my family at this difficult time. My colleagues, including faculty, staff and administrators, and students at this university, and also our extended family members in our community, helped me in so many ways, teaching my classes, visiting me and my family, providing food and service at our home, and offering kind words of love and comfort. I cannot begin to completely list all that was done in service at that time, but I remember it all, and have thanked the Lord many times for what was offered by so many.

Throughout my life, there have been several moments when my testimony and convictions were put to the test. One such experience occurred while I was attending a business conference in Poland. At the end of the first day, the event’s host invited a small group of guests to a private dinner at a fancy restaurant. As we took our seats, the host asked the waiters to serve each guest a very expensive alcoholic beverage as a gesture of appreciation.

When the waiter approached me, I politely explained that I do not drink alcohol and that I would be happy to have any other beverage available. The waiter seemed somewhat confused and explained that this was a quite expensive drink and had been offered to all the guests as an honor. He added that refusing it might risk offending the host. As I continued to explain my reasons, the attention of the room suddenly turned toward me, and several guests began chanting, “Drink it, drink it.” In that moment, my mind was flooded with thoughts of who I was, the covenants I had made, and the blessings I could lose if I gave in to peer pressure.

I simply smiled and calmly told those around me that I appreciated the gesture but would remain with my non-alcoholic beverage. In the end, the host was not offended at all. And later that evening, one of the other participants approached me and thanked me for staying true to my convictions.

“Is something bothering you?” Mom asked Isa as they rode the tram home from church.
Isa stared out at the canals that crisscrossed Amsterdam’s streets. “My Primary teacher said that having the priesthood in your home is a blessing,” Isa said. “But Dad doesn’t have the priesthood, so we can’t be blessed.”
“We can still have the priesthood in our home, even if your dad isn’t a member of the Church,” Mom said. “There are lots of worthy priesthood holders in the ward who can help you. What about Brother Van Leeuwen, our home teacher?”
Isa liked Brother Van Leeuwen. He always brought stroopwafels, Isa’s favorite cookie, and talked with her about science, her best subject. But at church other children told about their dads giving them priesthood blessings when they were sick or upset. Isa couldn’t ask her dad for a blessing.
“I love Dad,” Isa said. “But I wish he had the priesthood.”
When they got home, Dad was in the kitchen cooking dinner. “How was church?” he called to them.
Isa didn’t reply. Instead, she went into her bedroom and flopped down on the bed. She wished things were a little different.
The next week Isa had to take a big test at school. Every child in the Netherlands has to take a test when they are 12 years old to determine where they go to school next year. Even though Isa had been studying hard and was prepared, she was very nervous. The night before, her stomach felt like it was tied in knots. She couldn’t sleep. As she tossed and turned in bed, she remembered the lesson from Primary about asking for a priesthood blessing if you were afraid. Even though her dad couldn’t give her a blessing, she knew Heavenly Father would help her if she asked.
Isa got out of bed and walked into the living room. Mom was at work, but Dad was on the couch watching TV.
“Is everything OK?” Dad asked.
“I’m really nervous about the test tomorrow,” Isa said. “Do you think we could call Brother Van Leeuwen and ask him to give me a blessing?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Dad said. “Let me give him a call.”
“We can live every hour ‘blessed by the strength of priesthood power,’ whatever our circumstance.”
Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Power in the Priesthood,” Liahona, Nov. 2013, 92.
Soon Brother Van Leeuwen and his son Jaan came over and gave Isa a blessing. Brother Van Leeuwen asked Heavenly Father to help Isa not be nervous for the test and to help her do well. While Brother Van Leeuwen gave Isa the blessing, Dad sat on the couch and folded his arms and closed his eyes.
After the blessing Isa felt much better. Her stomach wasn’t so tight anymore, and she was even a little sleepy. “Good luck tomorrow,” Brother Van Leeuwen said as they left. “You’ve worked very hard, and I know Heavenly Father will help you do well.”
“I’m proud of you for having faith,” Dad said to Isa as he tucked her back into bed. “Even if I’m not a member of the Church, I’m glad that you believe in God, and I hope you know that I do too.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Isa said, and he kissed her on the cheek.
As she snuggled under her covers, Isa felt happy and peaceful. She was grateful to have a dad who loved her. She was glad her dad believed in Heavenly Father and Jesus. And she knew the priesthood could always bless her and her home.

The first event took place in Tonga during World War II.
It was nighttime, but the moon and the stars gave Finau a feeling of assurance as he carefully guided his canoe across the wide expanse of the gently undulating Pacific Ocean. He constantly studied the stars, so he knew he was going in the right direction. The moon was up, and its brightness was only obscured by occasional wisps of high clouds.
He had heard something about a “war” going on. Several of his friends had gone to the main island and traded their carved tikis and woven baskets to the American soldiers for money—more money than they had seen in all their 16 or so years of life. Finau had collected his very best baskets and carvings and was already anticipating what he would do with the money he was sure to get from the Americans.
The sky was starting to lighten a little, and he could see the waves breaking on the reef in the distance. He knew he was about there.
The sun had just come up as he paddled his canoe through the reef opening and into the quiet lagoon. He saw an American soldier with a gun standing on the shore and made his course towards him. He had heard of guns and of the war and of the American soldiers and of all the money they had and of all the things that money could buy. But now as he actually saw an American and observed his gun and realized he would have to talk to him, he became very nervous and uncertain of just what to do. Finau had learned a few words of English in his local school, but would it be enough? How much should he ask for his goods? He only knew pence and shillings and pounds, and he’d heard that the Americans used dimes and dollars. What were they worth? What would they buy? How should he begin?
Finau felt a little fear as he pulled his canoe up to the beach and the soldier came over. There was no one else on the beach. Would the soldier just take his goods? Would he shoot him? Uncertainty gripped his feelings as he climbed out of the canoe and pulled it onto the beach. He was here and he had traveled all night, so despite his fear he must go ahead.
“You buy?” he said to the soldier as he lifted a few baskets and tikis from the boat.
The young American soldier came over and looked at the items. “How much for this?” he asked, taking a beautifully carved tiki in his hand.
Finau almost panicked. He wasn’t sure of the meaning of the strange words, but he felt he wanted him to say a price, so he blurted out, “Very good. Number one tiki. You buy. One pound.”
The soldier looked quizzically at him, “You’re new at this, aren’t you? How about two dollars for the tiki and these three baskets?”
Finau wondered, “Is that enough? Maybe I should ask more and see what happens.”
“Number one tiki, number one basket. Two dollars tiki, two dollars basket.”
“Oh, you’re a little bargainer are you? I’ll tell you what. I’ve got a carton of cigarettes here. Cigarettes are worth more than money. I’ll give you this whole carton for everything you have here. I guarantee you it’s a good deal. They are good cigarettes. Here, I’ll show you.” The soldier lit one and took a puff and then offered it to Finau.
Up to now Finau had been uncertain of himself, but as he recognized the cigarettes and realized the intent of what was being said, he straightened up and firmly replied, “No!”
“Oh, come on. One sale and you’re all through. Think of the time you’ll save, and if you don’t want to smoke them all yourself you can trade them for other things—even money if you want. They’re rationed, you know. Who can tell their value under these circumstances and in this faraway place? Come on, let’s trade.”
“No,” retorted Finau.
“Come on, come on. What’s the matter? I’ll give them to you first, and you can unload your goods and leave them on the sand. You won’t get a better deal.” The soldier was noticeably irritated by this “stupid native’s” refusal. He looked down at him with all the superiority he felt and again said, “Go ahead. It’s okay. Cigarettes are valuable. Don’t be so stupid.”
Finau, groping for words, stood erect and said, “No, me no smoke. Me Mormon.”
It was as though he had shot the young American. The soldier jerked in startled surprise. He carefully studied Finau, then looked past him and stared longingly into space. He looked again into the lowly native’s eyes. Then he took the carton of cigarettes from under his arm, placed it in his right hand, crushed it, and heaved it far into the lagoon.
Finau wondered, “Why?” He looked at the carton with its bobbing packages scattered about. Then he looked again at the soldier as he turned to walk away from the shore and heard him say, “Yeah, I know. So am I.”

In Johannesburg, South Africa, the Young Ambassadors were privileged to meet Sister Julia Mavimbela. In 1955, when Julia was expecting her last child, her husband, John, was tragically killed. This period was a time of intense oppression for the blacks in that country. After her husband’s death, Julia was left with a young family to raise. From the 1960s through the 1980s, she worked as a schoolteacher in Soweto township. She was always engaged in a worthwhile project, helping others to help themselves. She taught young people to garden. Julia told her students, “Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed, show love, and see what fruits will grow. Love will not come without forgiving others. Where there was a bloodstain, a beautiful flower must grow.” She got seeds and taught people to plant around their homes. She showed them how to strain dishwater through a gallon bucket filled with sand so they could use it to water their seeds.

In 1981 two young men in white shirts and dark, conservative ties volunteered to help her with her work. When the missionaries subsequently taught her about the plan of salvation and spoke of life after death, Julia was deeply moved by the message that she could see her husband, John, again. It made sense. She joined the Church, and the gospel became a great strength to her as she faced more tragedy in her family. In the 1990s her grandson happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when gunfire rang through the township, and he was murdered. When Sister Mavimbela’s soul cried out for the healing influence of the Spirit, she left behind the rocky paths of grief and bitterness. Julia Mavimbela chose to love.