Gospel Story Finder

I remember when I was young, listening to my father’s conversion story. When the gospel of Jesus Christ was introduced to Samoa, it was not received well. Many felt threatened by this new religion and fought against it and persecuted those who chose to join. Many converts were expelled from their village homes and many fled to places of refuge. My father, being a young and curious man, sought to discover what this new religion taught. In time he was baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As news spread through the village that my father had joined the Church, a worried friend from his village warned him that there was talk of cooking him alive in an umu (an above-ground oven of hot volcanic stones), so my father fled and found refuge with Malietoa Talavou Pe’a Fitisemanu and Alisa Fitisemanu. Even though his life was threatened, he was committed to his newfound faith. As the Saviour taught, “ye shall know them by their fruits.”6 The blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ in my life with my wife and our children, and in the lives of our children’s families, are some of the fruits of my father’s faith.

There are many today who harbor in the deep recesses of their hearts a canker, a hurt, a feeling of resentment, a dislike, or in some cases even a hate because of unpleasant experiences with past and present associations. Some have been taken advantage of in a business sense. Others have had their feelings hurt by neighbors, or relatives, or friends. A few have been lied to or had a trust of long standing betrayed. Some children, young and now grown, have been offended by harsh or dictatorial parents. Husbands and wives may have deep schisms between them caused by criticism and a resulting resentment. The list of sad experiences goes on and on—yes, it is too long. To those of you who have been nursing the wounds of hurt feelings from the past, even from the little things, I would like to tell an experience which happened some time ago.
For much of our lives, we lived in central Arizona. Some years ago a group of teenagers from the local high school went on an all-day picnic into the desert on the outskirts of Phoenix. As some of you know, the desert foliage is rather sparse—mostly mesquite, catclaw, and palo verde trees, with a few cactus scattered here and there. In the heat of the summer, where there are thickets of this desert growth, you may also find rattlesnakes as unwelcome residents. These young people were picnicking and playing, and during their frolicking, one of the girls was bitten on the ankle by a rattlesnake. As is the case with such a bite, the rattler’s fangs released venom almost immediately into her bloodstream.
This very moment was a time of critical decision. They could immediately begin to extract the poison from her leg, or they could search out the snake and destroy it. Their decision made, the girl and her young friends pursued the snake. It slipped quickly into the undergrowth and avoided them for fifteen or twenty minutes. Finally, they found it, and rocks and stones soon avenged the infliction.
Then they remembered: their companion had been bitten! They became aware of her discomfort, as by now the venom had had time to move from the surface of the skin deep into the tissues of her foot and leg. Within another thirty minutes they were at the emergency room of the hospital. By then, the venom was well into its work of destruction.
A couple of days later I was informed of the incident and was asked by some young members of the Church to visit their friend in the hospital. As I entered her room, I saw a pathetic sight. Her foot and leg were elevated—swollen almost beyond recognition. The tissue in her limb had been destroyed by the poison, and a few days later it was found her leg would have to be amputated below the knee.
It was a senseless sacrifice, this price of revenge. How much better it would have been if, after the young woman had been bitten, there had been an extraction of the venom from the leg in a process known to all desert dwellers.

During my childhood, my family and I lived in a two-story building with six apartments, and every year all six families would join together to celebrate Christmas. As a young man, that was one of my favourite times of the year.
A pine tree was placed in the centre of the yard and along with my brothers and friends, we would help decorate both the tree and the yard. After the adults had finished preparing the lights, they were painted in different colours and then used to decorate the tree.
One of the most beautiful moments was when we turned the lights on. The colour combination made the place even more cheerful, especially when the lights reflected the nativity scene.
I still vividly remember those moments and the joy that we felt year after year helping prepare for this glorious celebration. This Christmas Eve I want to invite you to ponder on the question what is Christmas to you?

There is one last but very important point I need to emphasize with an experience. While living in San Diego, I visited the home of one of my fellow teachers. He and I went out to his garage and I was surprised to see the large amount of food storage he had. His had only a family of three, yet he had tons of food stored. I mentioned that to him. He pointed through the open door of the garage and said, See my neighbor over there? He helps me with my plumbing problems and see my neighbor down there? He helps me with my mechanical problems. They don't know what I know, so they don't store, but I'm not going to let them go hungry.

We must have his attitude. We are not building Zion just for us, but for all the honorable and good people of the earth, so they can have a place of refuge. They do not know the palm trees of fire are coming, We do and we need to build a place from them and their babies. And consider the thanks they will heap upon you because in a time of terrible immorality and impurity, you had the courage not only to keep your selves pure, but to promote the purity everywhere.

Although I serve in the Asia Area Presidency now, my first assignment as a General Authority was to serve in the Asia North Area Presidency. We lived in Tokyo and traveled often to Korea and the islands of the Guam Micronesia Mission.

During those years, there were, perhaps, hundreds of meetings that I attended in Korea. Some of them were in small branches, and others were in the largest stakes. I had many feelings and impressions as I participated in teaching the gospel and in bearing testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. For me, one of the most important meetings did not happen at a church or in the temple. Rather, the meeting that may have had the greatest impact on my understanding of how the Lord desired to grow and more firmly establish His Church in Asia and other parts of the world happened in a busy restaurant with only four of us present.

I had been assigned to preside at a Stake Conference in Korea. I asked Elder Choi Yoon Hwan, who was then an Area Seventy, to arrange a dinner appointment with the stake president. That evening, the Stake President, one of his counselors in the stake presidency, Elder Choi and I sat down to dinner and just talked.

I asked the stake president whether he had known Elder Choi as they were growing up as young men in Korea. The stake president told me that he, Elder Choi and his counselor had all served missions together as young men. After their missions, they each had a variety of experiences that created opportunities for education and employment. In Elder Choi’s case, he left Korea and first came here to BYU Hawaii and then to Utah State University for his education. He and his wife, Bon, then chose to return to Korea, raise a family and serve the Lord. In each of the others’ lives, they had had educational and professional opportunities, but through their individual choices, they had chosen to stay in or return to Korea, marry, be sealed in the temple, and have children. They worked to build up the Church in Korea, the country that had given them the gospel as well as parents, family, birth, life, language and culture. Each had served as a bishop and as a member of a stake presidency, and each had made a significant contribution to the building up of the Lord’s church in that country. As many of you know, Elder Choi now serves as one of the General Authorities of the Church and is a member of the Asia North Area Presidency.

That evening, we talked about young men and women serving together and choosing to follow the Lord’s counsel to return to their country and work to build and strengthen the Church where they had been born. It was during this conversation that I first had come into my heart a spiritual understanding that the Lord would build up and more firmly establish His Church in each country, culture, language and people by having the rising generation accept His doctrine, and gather back to their own country. There they would work together to build up and strengthen the Church in that place. There they would establish multigenerational families who will be the spiritual strength of that country and place. That night, I not only heard the stories of these three men and their families, but I could also see so many others choosing to follow the Lord’s will in this matter, raising their families in spiritual security and happiness, and making contributions to His Church in their own country. These contributions can never be made, and this spiritual security can never be had, without accepting the Lord’s counsel and following His will in one’s life.

In 2022, my friends and I were riding a small, off-road vehicle in the desert when we got in a rollover crash. I woke up lying on the ground, covered in blood. I couldn’t feel a thing. Soon a helicopter came to take me to a hospital. I found out I had broken my neck in two places and that I was paralyzed from the shoulders down.
At first, it definitely tested my testimony. I kept thinking, “Why me?” I didn’t understand why all my friends walked away from the accident and I didn’t. I was a 16-year-old gymnast and cheerleader, and this was not what I’d pictured for my life.
One day after the accident I was having a really crummy day, and I didn’t want to get out of bed and go to physical therapy. But I went, and I saw a man there who was paralyzed and had been burned. He was smiling and talking to all the therapists, and I thought, “If he can do it, I can too.”
After that experience, I was able to focus more on gratitude. I realized how lucky I was, and I was able to accept my situation a little more. I realized I have to choose to wake up and focus on the good things, like my amazing family and the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I’ve found that helping other people helps me. I remember seeing a couple of teenagers at therapy who were paralyzed. I went up to them and talked to them, because I would have loved it if someone had done that for me.
So many people are going through hard things. At physical therapy, you see all these trials around you that are so visible. In high school, everyone is going through a lot too, but no one really knows it. It’s more hidden. There are all these labels, like “football player” and “cheerleader.” Sometimes it’s scary to break out of the labels and make new friends. I like cheer and tumbling, and I always thought that those things defined who I was.
But I realized that those labels aren’t everything in life. How people look, how different they are from you—those things don’t really matter. You can reach out to everyone and focus on helping them. And now some of my best friends are people I never would have imagined being friends with before.
After some time in a rehabilitation center, I have been able to gain movement in my arms and some feeling in my legs. I continue to progress every day.
I don’t know what my future’s going to be like, and without the Lord, I’d be pretty scared. But I recently got my patriarchal blessing, and it helps me feel confident that whatever happens, I’ll be OK. Reading the scriptures and saying my prayers every day has also helped me through a lot. Without Jesus Christ, I know that my struggles would feel so much worse. He helps me feel peace even when things are hard.
The author lives in Utah, USA.
Watch a message from Emily on the Gospel Living app!

I remember an experience I had in the United States Marine Corps when we came in after being on a long, heavy, forced march. We were tired, hungry, and thirsty. The cooks had prepared a chicken salad to tide us over until our evening meal, and boy, was it going to taste good! A friend and I always paused and blessed the food before we ate. We prayed while the others dived in. Within hours, the whole group was violently ill, except for two—the two of us who had stopped to thank the Lord.

Edward Partridge was the first Presiding Bishop of the Restored Church. Born in 1793, he became dissatisfied with the religions of his day when he was in his twenties. And, in 1830, after investigating the Church, he was baptized by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The Prophet said of Edward, “he was a pattern of piety, and one of the Lord’s great men, known by his steadfastness and patient endurance to the end” (“History of Joseph Smith,” Times and Seasons, 15 Sept. 1843, vol. 4, 320).
Edward became the Presiding Bishop of the Church less than two months after his baptism, and he certainly needed the “patient endurance” mentioned by the Prophet Joseph. He and his family were harshly persecuted by the mobs in Missouri and then in Nauvoo. On one occasion he was dragged from his home and tarred and feathered by a mob of more than 200 men. But Bishop Partridge’s faith carried him through his trials.
The bishop died when he became very ill in Nauvoo. He was only 46. Of Edward Partridge, the Lord said, “his heart is pure before me, for he is like unto Nathanael of old, in whom there is no guile” (D&C 41:11). And in the Doctrine and Covenants we learn that the Lord received Edward Partridge unto himself (see D&C 124:19).

Becky Latimer, seated in front of a computer, has a glow about her only partially caused by her bright red shirt and the light from the terminal. The other reason for the glow is the triumphant look on her face as she explains, “Yesterday my friend Eryn and I worked on a program for five hours. It was so difficult that we named it Faith. Today we’re on a roll, so we called this program Hope. And we think things will be going well tomorrow. If so, we’ll call our file Charity.”
Becky and Eryn are participants in a two-week intensive program in computer science at Brigham Young University for outstanding high school students. High school students who have completed their junior year come from throughout the United States and abroad to participate. No previous experience with computers is necessary, but students must be nominated to attend by their teachers, school administrators, and PTA presidents, based on their PSAT (college entrance test) scores. Every participant accepted to the program receives a full scholarship.
Becky and Eryn are now good friends. The hard work they’ve done together over a glowing computer terminal has cemented their friendship. And together they have found Faith, Hope, and Charity.

One day, just after it had rained in beautiful Nauvoo, Margarette McIntire and her older brother Wallace were walking to school.
Hurry up, Wallace, or we’ll be late.
I’m coming.
My boots are stuck, Margarette!
Mine are too. There’s too much mud.
The children found they couldn’t get out, so they started to cry, thinking they would have to stay there.
What’s this?
Brother Joseph!
We’re stuck.
Joseph pulled the two children out of the mud.
He cleaned the mud off their boots.
You look very pretty today, Margarette. Don’t worry about the mud—it will come off.
He dried their tears.
Cheer up, young man. You’re a very good older brother. Keep taking good care of your sister.
Margarette later recalled the experience: “Was it any wonder that I loved that great, good, and noble man of God?”
Off to school, now.
Thank you, Brother Joseph.
Good-bye!

When Jamie’s mommy came to get him from his Star A class, he was very excited. “I’m giving a talk in Primary next Sunday.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Mommy. “You ask Daddy to help you.”
While Mother fixed dinner, Daddy helped Jamie think about what to say. That evening, Mommy helped him practice the words.
On Monday Jamie practiced as he swung back and forth in the swing. On Tuesday he practiced while he shoveled sand from the sand pile into his dump truck.
He even practiced in front of the mirror in the bathroom at night before he went to bed.
Later in the week, he gave his talk to his best friend, Grandpa Strong.
“Good talk,” Grandpa told him.
Jamie’s sister, Ann, listened to his talk while she curled her hair. “Nice job,” she said.
On Saturday Jamie said his talk to the dog while she was sleeping in a patch of sunlight. I know every word now, Jamie thought. I’m ready to give my talk tomorrow.
In the morning, Jamie put on his blue pants and white shirt and pink bow tie and blue jacket. In Primary he sat on a seat behind the pulpit and listened to the prayer and scripture reading.
Sister Dodson said, “Jamie will give his talk now.”
Jamie stood at the pulpit. His mommy and daddy sat in the back of the room and smiled at him. All the other children looked at him. Then something happened: When Jamie started to say the words, nothing came out of his mouth! He tried to think, but all he could think of was that he had forgotten his talk. Big tears came to his eyes. He stood there and didn’t know what to do.
Then he saw Daddy come toward him. Daddy knelt down beside him and put his arm around him and told him the first words of the talk. Jamie started to remember the rest of his talk. With Daddy’s arm firmly around him, Jamie said every word.
After Sharing Time, lots of people told him that he had given a good talk. Jamie felt good. He had tried hard all by himself, and with Daddy’s help, Jamie had given his first talk.
After church Jamie took Daddy’s hand. “Thanks for helping me,” he said.
Daddy squeezed his hand. “You know, Jamie, when I get stuck I ask my special Father to help me. I can depend on His help. Do you know Whom I’m talking about?”
Jamie smiled. “Heavenly Father.”
“That’s right, son. Heavenly Father will always be there to help you.”

As a young regional representative, I was assigned to assist Elder Marion G. Romney in reorganizing a stake. During the long, quiet ride to the conference, our conversation turned to the spiritual dimensions of our assignment. Elder Romney taught me about how the Lord blesses us with revelation. “Robert,” he said, “I have learned that when we are on the Lord’s errand, we have His blessings to accomplish whatever we are asked to do.” Elder Romney further explained that we would arrive in the distant city, kneel in prayer, interview priesthood holders, kneel in prayer again, and the Holy Ghost would reveal to us the person whom the Lord had chosen to be the new stake president. He promised me it would be one of the great spiritual experiences of my life, and it was.

One summer at Aspen Grove Family Camp, I observed a mother patiently feeding a teenage daughter injured at birth and totally dependent upon Mother. Mother administered each spoonful of food, each swallow of water, while holding steady the head and neck of her daughter. Silently I thought to myself, For 17 years, Mother has provided this service and all others to her daughter, never thinking of her own comfort, her own pleasure, her own food. May God bless such mothers, such fathers, such children. And He will.

The Liahona (Spanish) helped bring about a complete change in my life. Prior to my baptism into the LDS church 15 years ago, I was a practicing Catholic. I was active in that church’s lay organization, serving at the national level and representing the organization at many international conventions.
My two sons, Jaime and Bernardo, were the first family members to make contact with the Church. They tried to discuss its teachings with me on several occasions, but, indignantly, I said I was not about to change my religion.
One day, out of curiosity, I picked up a copy of the Liahona that they left on a table. As I read the first article, by President Spencer W. Kimball, I felt as though I had been touched by a ray of light. His message gave me something I had hungered for all my life. Within a week, I met with the missionaries, and I was later baptized by my son, Jaime (now a bishop).
My wife has not chosen to be baptized yet. However, she supports me and loves the local church members. Patiently, I wait for the day when we can be sealed together in the temple.
Reading my first Liahona those many years ago not only brought change in my life, it also brought peace in my heart.
Jaime Rey GalvisAlhambra Ward, Bogotá Colombia Stake

Cancer? Me? I thought only people in big cities got cancer. After biopsies and close examinations by competent specialists, I learned the problem I was having with the swelling in my right forearm was an osteogenic sarcoma. Translated, it meant I had a type of bone cancer which, in those days, was nearly always fatal, even with the amputation of the affected limb.
Fatal! I was 19; having something fatal had never crossed my mind. I was excited to serve my mission, marry in the temple, have a great family, and enjoy a wonderful life. Still I loved the Lord, and I knew He loved me. Whether He allowed me to remain here or leave this life, it would be OK.
The immediate outcome was the loss of my right arm. The extended outcome has proven to be a lifetime of adventure. As I look back, I can honestly say the loss of my arm, rather than being a tragic experience, has been one of my greatest blessings. I have learned and gained so much from it.
The adjustment was interesting. I had been working in logging and road-building operations in the Pacific Northwest woods, so my body was strong. But I was extremely right-handed, and that greatly-depended-upon arm was truly missed. Although I could formerly throw a baseball farther than anyone on the team, with my left arm I could throw a ball only a short distance. Writing was really interesting. My penmanship could have been improved on by almost any preschool child. Everything was a challenge: tying shoes, buttoning shirts, carrying large objects, driving, shaving, drawing, eating, being stared at, enduring phantom pain, and so on.
Very quickly I came to realize I had much to get used to, to learn, and to relearn. I also realized there was very little I could do about the fact that I had only one arm, and my attitude about that fact—and in life in general—was totally up to me. I was at a crossroads. It was apparent I could cry if I wanted to, or I could handle this and all other challenges with faith and a positive attitude. My happiness and eternal well-being were dependent upon my choice.
The decision was simple. I chose to be positive, creative, very active, and to do everything possible to fulfill my destiny as a son of God, sent to grow from an earthly experience. Once made, this choice was firm and I never looked back.

Brother Kim also made a memorably bold statement of dedication to his faith in an episode that almost seems drawn from the Book of Daniel. Korean President Syngman Rhee decided one Sunday that he urgently needed to consult with his vice-minister of education. After searching for several hours, the presidents’ secretary found Kim Ho Jik teaching his Sunday School class. Brother Kim refused to leave until he finished his lesson. President Rhee, notorious for his harshness, was irate. But Brother Kim calmly explained that he considered nothing more important than his Sunday School teaching assignment and felt obliged to finish it before responding to the president’s summons. President Rhee patted Brother Kim on the shoulder and said, “Well done.”

Not long after I had completed the Book of Mormon for the second time, my husband left our family. The seemingly impossible tasks of my new job became extremely stressful, and my son’s chronic health condition left me feeling like I was drowning.
But then I remembered reading in the Book of Mormon about how Amulon had placed great burdens upon Alma and his people. When the people prayed for help, the Lord told them He was mindful of their situation and would deliver them. Until then, He said, “I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs” (Mosiah 24:14).
I had studied that chapter in Mosiah many times before, and I had taught it many times to others in gospel classes. I believed the truth of those verses. Because I had become familiar with the teachings in the Book of Mormon, I knew that personal truth appears when I liken the scriptures to my personal circumstances.
So I began reading that chapter every day for strength and to remind myself that the Lord cared about me too. I still had to experience trials, but He did lighten my burdens.
Those verses in the Book of Mormon carried me through a time of great personal adversity, providing me with peace and a comforting knowledge that the Lord is mindful of all His children.

Cold wind blew as Brigham Young arrived at Sugar Creek on the evening of February 15, 1846. Scattered around a snowy patch of woods, not far from an icy brook, hundreds of Saints shivered in damp coats and blankets. Many families collected around fires or underneath tents fashioned from bedsheets or wagon covers. Others huddled together in carriages or wagons for warmth.1

Right away Brigham knew he needed to organize the camp. With the help of other Church leaders, he divided the Saints into companies and called captains to lead them. He warned against taking unnecessary trips back to Nauvoo, being idle, and borrowing without permission. Men were to protect the camp constantly and monitor cleanliness, and each family was to pray together mornings and evenings.2

A good spirit soon settled over the camp. Safely out of Nauvoo, the Saints worried less about mobs or government threats to stop the exodus. In the evenings, a brass band played lively music while the men and women danced. Saints who practiced plural marriage also became less guarded and began to speak openly about the principle and how it linked their families together.3

The sun was setting when Mikel and his little sister, Ainhoa, drove the cows home from the mountain pasture. The days were shorter now with a nip of fall in the air. It would get colder in the Pyrenees Mountains as winter approached.

“There’s our house!” shouted Ainhoa, waving her stick.

Although other Basque homes were built similarly, Mikel thought their house was the most beautiful one in the village. The house was of whitewashed concrete, two stories tall, with a red roof and green shutters at the windows. The sign written in Basque above the door said, “May Peace Be in This House.”

Their dog Eguzki barked at the heels of the cows until they were all in the pen and the gate shut behind them.

“Patxi said he might take me to market tomorrow!” Ainhoa said excitedly as they reached their house. “He was gone so long in the mountains with the sheep, I almost forgot what he looked like!”

Mikel walked slowly to the door. He wanted to go to market tomorrow, too, but someone had to stay and watch the cows. He wondered if anyone would remember his birthday. No one had said anything about it for the past week. Everyone had been too excited about seeing Patxi, Mikel’s older brother, who had been with the sheep for four months in the high mountain pastures.

Inside the house the family was gathering for dinner. Patxi, with his broad smile and white teeth, his sunbrowned face and twinkling brown eyes, was sitting in the dining room talking to his father. His mother and sister Garbiñe brought in platters of bread, cheese, and roasted lamb from the kitchen.

After dinner Ainhoa put her arms around Patxi’s neck. “Will you take me to market tomorrow, Patxi? You said I might go with you to sell our fat pig and some cheeses. You will take me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Patxi said. “I never forget a promise.” Garbiñe put a plate of butter on the table and sat down near her big brother. “My friend Mirentxu has been waiting to see you since you left last May, Patxi,” she said. “She will be at the market tomorrow too. Don’t forget to say hello to her.”

“I won’t,” Patxi promised.

Mikel pulled off his jacket and beret. He sat on the hearth of the fireplace next to Amama, his old grandmother, who was mending a torn pair of pants. She nodded at him and smiled.

Amama always understood what Mikel was thinking. She said, “Tomorrow we will have three men in our family. Your father and Patxi and Mikel, who will be twelve years old.”

Mikel looked up at his grandmother and smiled.

In the morning when it was time to take the cows up to the pasture, Ainhoa watched Mikel put on his jacket and beret. She gave him the lunch his mother had packed. “I will get you some lemon drops while I am at the market,” she promised.

“If you want to,” Mikel said unhappily. Although he stumped out the door, his rope-soled abarcus (shoes) did not make much noise.

As he opened the cow pen, his father appeared with the two mules, ready to go to town. “I know you would like to go to market with Patxi, Son, but I hope you understand that you are needed here.”

“I understand,” said Mikel. He waved his stick, and Eguzki barked at the cows. They started, one by one, up the mountainside.

When Mikel reached the high pasture, he could see the roofs of the village far below. How he wished he could have gone to market with his big brother, Patxi.

From the cow pasture, Mikel could look up and see the shepherds’ huts high on the mountainside where Patxi had lived while he watched the sheep. It was lonely up there except when someone from the village brought food and supplies to the shepherds once a week.

Mikel patted Eguzki’s head. “Patxi is a brave man,” he said to his dog, “to live up in that hut through summer storms and heat. There are wild animals there too!”

Mikel didn’t mind spending time alone with the cows. He loved them and had a name for each one. They trusted him and followed him readily, so he rarely had to use his stick. He liked to sit in the shade of a beech tree or put his feet in the stream on hot days. But looking up into the high mountains now, he thought he might get a little lonesome if he couldn’t come home for dinner every night.

During the summer Mikel helped his father on the farm, and a man from the village watched the cows. However, these few weeks, Mikel and Ainhoa had to watch them until the men had stored enough fodder to feed the animals through the winter.

At midday Mikel ate his lunch—a ham sandwich, cheese, and some artichokes. Then, knowing that Eguzki was nearby to watch the cows, he lay down and took a nap. When he woke up, Mikel felt lonely on the mountainside and wished Ainhoa were with him. To occupy his time, Mikel sang a song Patxi had taught him about a captive bird.

In the evening as the cows walked slowly home, one by one, Mikel saw his entire family waiting by the cow pen. When they saw him coming, they shouted and began to sing a birthday song. Ainhoa handed him a bag of lemon drops when he met them, and Patxi gave him a heavy package. “I bought it for you in the market,” Patxi explained. “It is for you when you are in the high pastures and feel lonely.”

When Mikel was inside the house, he opened the package. There were three books—a Bible, a book by a man named Shakespeare, and Robinson Crusoe. “These will be good companions on the mountainside,” he said, holding them out.

Mikel’s father looked proudly at his son. “We have another man in our family now. Mikel is twelve years old today.”

“We need another man in our family,” Patxi said, “because I’m going to America. It will be your job to watch the sheep, Mikel.”

“When did you decide this?” Mikel asked. He knew that men sometimes went to America because they were better paid and that some of them had sent money back home. But few of them ever returned.

“We talked to a man in the market today,” Mikel’s mother said sadly. “America is still a land of opportunity. A young Basque sheepherder can make good wages there. Patxi will work for a man who lives in Idaho and who owns many more sheep than we do. Patxi will send money home to help us.”

“Then I will take care of our sheep,” Mikel promised.

“I wondered if you were old enough to do it,” Patxi said. “Then today when I saw how you stayed with the cows without complaining, I knew you were almost grown up.”

“Thank you,” Mikel said as he carefully placed the books in his knapsack. He looked over and saw Amama sitting by the fire, nodding and smiling at him.

One Sunday morning, an email from FamilySearch arrived in my inbox. It spoke of my great-great-grandfather, Thomas Jefferson Thurston. I learned that he was buried in St. George, Utah, USA, where I was serving as a historic-site missionary. Exploring further on my family tree, I discovered that Thomas moved to St. George in 1880 at the age of 75 to be close to the St. George Utah Temple. I also learned that Thomas built one of the first pine homes in St. George. I was excited and intrigued because these details were all new to me since I was familiar with Thomas only by name.
I wanted to find his headstone the next day. Early in the day I said, “Let’s wait to go after we have served at the Jacob Hamblin House” (one of the historic sites where I served). A short time later I felt prompted to say, “Let’s go now.”
Having seen a picture of Thomas’s headstone on FamilySearch.org, the headstone was surprisingly easy to find. While standing beside the headstone I noticed a lady hurrying toward me. At the headstone of our ancestor, we discovered we were third cousins once removed. We hugged, laughed, and took pictures together. I felt that I was guided by the Holy Ghost, especially in timing, to arrive at the cemetery before Susan, my newfound cousin, left the cemetery.
I left the cemetery with excited anticipation to go directly to the address listed on FamilySearch where my great-great-grandfather had lived. There stood his home. It had been 140 years since he’d begun construction on the home. Seeing his house, I felt unanticipated emotions of connection and love for my great-great-grandfather.
A plaque at the front of the lot confirmed that this was the home he built. As I was reading the plaque, the owner of the home drove out of the driveway. He stopped and I said I was a great-great-granddaughter of the builder of this home. The man kindly offered to show me the home. I was able to see and touch the home of my great-great-grandfather who was born in 1805.
I walked on the original pine floor in the living room. I looked through original windowpanes. I walked up steep historic steps to the second level. In the quiet, I imagined my ancestors eating, sleeping, and learning the gospel in this home. If I had arrived minutes later, I would not have been invited into the home where Thomas had lived. My Heavenly Father was in the details as I visited the home of my great-great-grandfather and felt a closeness to him beyond anything I had imagined.
I thought of the words of Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “Our desires, faithfulness, and obedience invite and help us to discern His mercies in our lives. … Each of us can have eyes to see clearly and ears to hear distinctly the tender mercies of the Lord as they strengthen and assist us in these latter days.”1
In just over 24 hours, I had connected with my Great-great-grandfather Thurston. I learned of his obedience, sacrifices, and accomplishments. FamilySearch was my source to learn about him, but the whisperings of the Spirit connected me to my heritage. The love my Heavenly Father manifested to me strengthened me and will remain in my memory forever. I know the series of events and the details of my day were blessings from the Lord.