Gospel Story Finder

This past spring two different bird families built nests in my yard. A small sparrow chose a rose tree on my patio for her nest. Time after time she flew back and forth, carrying blades of grass and small twigs in her beak. Carefully she manipulated her way through the rose thorns, depositing her building materials in the chosen spot. She worked without resting until the tiny nest was finished. I was amazed at how carefully the grasses were woven to make a strong and stable structure. I was almost moved to tears when I saw in the bottom of the nest four small pieces of cotton, placed in just the right spot to make a soft bed for her little ones.
The second bird, a robin, chose to build her nest in front of my house near the rain gutter, up high where ground predators could not reach it. Since she was larger, so was her nest, and in addition to being bigger, the outside of her nest was glued with mud, which kept the grasses and twigs together and held it in the crook of the rain gutter. Inside, single blades of grass were woven into a soft, cuplike shape that perfectly cradled the bird.
When the nests were completed, both birds laid their eggs and began the daily vigil of protecting and nurturing. Hour after hour, day after day these birds sat on their eggs. After the eggs hatched, the mothers worked full time to feed their hungry babies.
One particularly hot day I noticed the robin sitting on her nest, panting with her beak open. Obviously she was uncomfortable in the glare of the sun. I wondered why she stayed. Then I realized she was not sitting deep in the nest as she had when she was keeping her babies warm. Instead she was carefully stretched over the top of the nest, forming a protective shelter to keep her featherless babies from being sunburned.
I began to read about birds and the great pains they take to build homes for their families. Did you know that barn swallows make more than 1,200 mud-carrying trips in order to construct their nests? One single nest of a hooded oriole was found to contain 3,387 separate pieces of material. It seems to me that birds invest everything—their time, their energy, their means, their own comfort—to make a home and rear their young. It is not a priority that is given second place or avoided. It takes first place.
Since watching the birds in my yard, I have wondered who taught these birds what to do. How did they know how to build a nest and to shade their fledglings from the sun? Birds follow instincts to provide, protect, and nurture. These are God-given instincts, and pondering on them caused me, along with the Psalmist, to exclaim, “O Lord, how great are thy works!” (Ps. 92:5).

When I finished primary school, my father taught me to make decisions for myself. I had to travel more than 150 km to reach the city center of Mweka in the Kasai province of DR Congo, where I started secondary school in humanitarian studies with priests of the Catholic diocese of Mweka.
Once I finished secondary school, I had to follow the Catholic faith to continue my humanitarian studies; hence from the fifth and sixth humanitarian year we were prepared to embrace the Catholic faith. After completing the humanitarian cycle, we had the privilege of preparing ourselves as aspirants with the Josephite fathers.
When starting my first year in philosophy, my older brother who was my tutor informed the priest that I should not continue as an aspirant among the Josephite fathers. Not accepting the opposition, the Josephite fathers, through my godfather, asked me to abandon the path of consecration in the Catholic Church for something else.
It was then that I moved to Kinshasa to commence my studies in law. Once I arrived in 2007, I enrolled at the University of Kinshasa. In my first year in 2008, we experienced a total strike at the University of Kinshasa. During the strike, I left the neighborhood where I lived to go to the commune of Masina to stay with my older brother.
And once in Masina, during the strike, I discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the neighborhood where I lived with my older brother.
I made the decision to go to a meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on a Sunday. When I arrived at the building, a brother greeted me at the door and invited me to come inside. I then participated in the Sunday service and afterwards I was placed in contact with the full-time missionaries.
I took the missionary lessons for two weeks. After being taught, I had a strong desire to be baptized.
However, this was the beginning of strong opposition from within my family and my older brother who was like a guardian to me. He told the village to inform everyone that I wanted to become a member, that it is a bad church, and that no one should support me or contribute money to support my academic studies.
Consequently, I dropped out of law school and began preparing for a full-time mission. Thanks to Bishop Mutambay’s advice and direction, I remained a member of the Church despite opposition and began preparing for my full-time mission. I served in the Lubumbashi DR Congo from June 2013 to June 2015.
After serving as a full-time missionary, I came home and was fortunate to find the Church’s inspired Perpetual Education Fund program which allowed me to achieve my goals in completing my law studies through this program instituted by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008).
Today, I am a lawyer. My wife, Mireille, and I are parents of four children: Ross Power Kongo Kongo, Ron Cross Kongo Munemeka, Blacke Prestones Kongo Ibula, and Brian Lesser Congo. I accepted adversity by relying on my faith without knowing what was going to happen to me when I was abandoned for having chosen the restored Church.
I know that God is our Heavenly Father and despite difficulties and opposition He is there to help us. I will never be disappointed with the path I took and my decision to join His church.
I know this was the best decision I ever made. I will be forever grateful. Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration, and I am grateful to be in the Church of Jesus Christ.

A young man returning from his mission shared his experience with faith. He acknowledged it as a miracle in his life. He said, “I was the first of six children born to my parents. My mother and father taught me when I was young the principles of the gospel. Faith was taught through the example of both my mother and father. When I was only 10 years old, my father, this great example of trusting the Lord, was killed in an accident. I was young and had many feelings to deal with that were new to me.” This young man said he realized that he had two choices available to him—“I could have become bitter towards the Lord and lost all that I now have, or I could trust the Lord. Because of the example of my parents, trust was the path I chose. Choosing faith has made all of the difference.”

I used to feel the same way towards a person who had hurt me. I carried a grudge for years. In fact, I had no desire to forgive, except I hated the awful way I felt. Then I remembered that the Church teaches us to pray for those who hurt us. For lack of another solution I decided to give ita try. At firsts felt totally foolish praying for this person to be happy or do well in school, but when I was finished I could feel the grudge I’d held for so long melt away and become replaced with love for that person.
Ana Nielsen, 16King City, California

I am a level 5 gymnast at my gymnastics club, and I was having a very good season. The state meet was coming up, and if I did well in the state meet, I would qualify for region. But the region meet was going to be on a Sunday. I had been working so hard to get to this point, and I wanted to go, but I felt like I shouldn’t.
A couple days later was fast Sunday, and I told my mom and dad what I was going to fast for. Together with my family we fasted that I would know what the Lord wanted me to do. I fasted Saturday night, all the way to Sunday dinner. Boy, that was hard.
That night when I was sitting with my mom, I decided that I shouldn’t go. I felt good and peaceful about my decision. The next day my mom got an email saying the region meet was changed to Friday. The following week I competed at state and took first place all-around, and now I get to go to regions in Colorado.
I know my prayer was answered. My faith in fasting and prayer is a lot stronger.

I can’t wait to be a deacon. Ever since I was little, I’ve watched with envy as the older boys passed the sacrament. It’s an important job, and they always seem to know just where to go when they pass the sacrament. Now it’s my turn. My twelfth birthday is this week, and I’ve been learning about the priesthood in Blazer class. I’ve been dreaming about passing the sacrament myself. I wonder if I’ll get to pass it to the bishop.
My Blazer teacher told us that we would be interviewed by the bishop before we could be ordained. This would be my second interview—he had already interviewed me when I was going to get baptized. But I’ve lived half my life again since then!
I like my bishop. I see him every Sunday, and he knows my name. Sometimes he says hello. But I still worried about that interview. Did I know enough to be a deacon? Would he ask me about things I keep secret? Could I share my secrets with him? If I did, would he keep them secret?
Friday after dinner the bishop’s secretary called and said the bishop wanted to see me after my Blazer class on Sunday. I said OK, but I was nervous. In my mind I went over everything I thought that he might ask me. I began to remember all the things that happened this year. Some of them I wished hadn’t happened.
Sunday after class I headed for the bishop’s office. What a busy place! I thought. Everybody wants to see him. I think I’ll go home and come another day.
But he saw me. “Hello there, Bobby,” he called. “Come in and sit down, please. Excuse me just one moment.” He stepped out into the hall to talk to someone about something. I wondered what they were talking about. I looked around his office. He had a big chair and a desk, a picture of the Savior, and a picture of President Benson. I saw the scriptures on his desk. They sure were well worn. I wondered what it would be like to be a bishop.
The door opened, and the bishop came back in and sat next to me. He shook my hand. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. “You’re almost twelve, the age when we normally confer the Aaronic Priesthood and ordain boys as deacons. I’ve talked with your father, and he also felt that you and I should have this interview. Tell me what you know and how you feel about the priesthood.”
Oh no, I thought. What shall I tell him? He probably knows everything about the priesthood. I started by telling him some things from Blazer class and some things my mother had taught me. He didn’t interrupt, and once I got started, my nervousness went away.
When I finished, he said, “Very good. I can see that you’ve been paying attention and that you understand some important principles. There are some scriptures about the priesthood that I’d like to share with you. They’re some of my favorites.”
He turned first to section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 20]. We read from it and talked about the duties of a deacon. Then we read from section 84 [D&C 84] and talked about the covenant of the Aaronic Priesthood. After that, he turned to what he said was his favorite scripture—section 121. We read from verse 34 to the end of the section [D&C 121:34–46]. He helped me understand what the promise in verses 45 and 46 meant. [D&C 121:45–46]
Then he looked me right in the eyes and asked if I was paying tithing. I thought about how hard it had been to start. I was sure happy that I could say I was a full-tithe payer. I told him how good I felt when I paid my tithing.
Next he asked me if I ever smoked or drank alcoholic beverages or took drugs. I remembered the time my friends and I had tried a cigarette, and I didn’t want to say anything. I hadn’t even told my parents. I knew it was wrong when I’d done it, and I still felt bad about it. Something inside me said, “Speak up,” but I just couldn’t. My silence must have told the bishop I was wrestling with something, because he talked to me about keeping secrets. He called it “confidentiality.” He said that he would keep anything I told him a secret unless I gave him permission to share it with my parents. Then he waited.
It seemed like a long time while I figured out what words to use. I told him about smoking and how ashamed it made me feel. We talked about how it had happened and what I should do to repent. I didn’t tell him who I’d done it with, and he didn’t ask me to. He said that his knowing their names had nothing to do with my worthiness to receive the priesthood. We discussed the help my parents could give me, and I decided to tell them. A calm feeling came over me. I guess that’s what happens when you do something that you know is right.
When the bishop asked me if I was morally clean, I didn’t know what he meant, so I asked him. He explained about keeping my mind and body clean. We talked about how to do that. He explained that if I lived righteously, the power of the priesthood would always be with me.
He asked me to kneel with him and say a prayer, so I did. It was a short one. Then he prayed. He asked Heavenly Father to bless me, and that made me feel good. I knew that my bishop liked me.
I can hardly wait to tell Mom and Dad about my interview. They’ll be happy for me and will help me be a good, worthy bearer of the priesthood. Just think—next Sunday I’ll be presented in sacrament meeting by the bishop to be sustained to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and to be ordained a deacon. And the week after that, I’ll pass the sacrament. I’m going to be reverent when I do and try to set a good example. Maybe some younger boys will be looking up to me.

Myra clicked the mouse as fast as she could. Her character, Galina the elf queen, was trying to defeat the huge ice dragon. Her friends from school were online too. They were playing elves and fairies in the game.
Flashes of color burst all over the computer screen. This dragon was tough!
“Almost there, almost … Yes!” She jumped up and pumped her fist in the air.
The chat box on her screen lit up with messages.
“Awesome job!”
“Let’s do it again!”
Myra smiled. She loved playing Quest Planet with her friends. “Just need to drop off this treasure first,” Myra typed.
Ping. A new message popped up. “Pancake1000 would like to be your friend,” she read.
Myra frowned. She was only supposed to play online with friends from school. But maybe this was someone else she knew. She clicked “Accept.”
Ping. “Hi! I’m Ethan. What’s your name?”
I don’t know any Ethans, Myra thought. But maybe it would be OK to talk to him.
She bit her bottom lip. “I’m Myra,” she typed.
For the next few days, Myra played and chatted with Ethan online. He was really good at the game and showed her where to buy supplies for her character.
“Where do you go to school? I go to Jefferson,” Ethan said.
Myra paused. That was a school near hers. Maybe he knew some people from her school. She started to type “Woodberry.” But then she got a sick feeling in her stomach. She remembered how her parents always said not to share any personal information with people she didn’t know—like her full name, address, or school. She also knew to never send pictures of herself.
Ethan said he was her age and lived nearby, so maybe it was OK to talk with him. She still wasn’t sure, though.
So instead she typed, “Do you want to visit the Enchanted River? I need some vanishing stones.”
Pretty soon Myra noticed a pattern. Whenever she chatted with Ethan, he’d start out talking about the game, but then he’d ask questions about her real life. He always asked her for more information.
One day Ethan wrote something that made Myra really uncomfortable. She tried to change the subject. “I’m going to the Fairy Realm for some unicorn hair.”
Ping. A message popped up. Then another. And another. Myra ran out of the room to find Dad.
“Dad?” Myra said.
Dad looked up from a book. “What’s up?”
“I was playing my game …” Myra gulped and looked down. “Someone is sending me bad messages.”
Dad looked at the messages while Myra tried to look anywhere but the screen. Her insides felt like they were being squeezed. She wished she had never accepted Ethan’s friend request.
“I’m glad you told me. I’ll report him to the website and block him from your account. I’ll call his parents too. Is he in your class?”
Myra’s voice was soft. “I don’t know him … I’m sorry.”
Dad hugged her. “Do you remember why you should only play online with friends you know in person?”
Myra nodded. “To stay safe.”
“That’s right. It’s easy for people to lie about who they are online. I’m sure there are lots of nice kids on Quest Planet. But it’s safer to only play with kids you know.”
Myra was quiet for a few moments. “OK. I’m sorry.”
Dad gave her another hug. “I’m proud of you for telling me when something made you uncomfortable. That took courage. And it’s always a good choice.”
Now Myra really felt brave, just like Galina the elf queen!

In the summer of 1979, I was surprised to learn that some of my mother’s books and papers were stored in a backyard shed of ward members in my hometown of London, Ontario. In salvaging what I could from several moldering cardboard boxes, I discovered partially completed pedigree charts on my family, some family group records, and a few research notes. The real treasure was a four-page personal history written by my mother, who died when I was 11. This wonderful handwritten history describes her childhood in England during the 1930s and her life through World War II. Finding these records stimulated my initial interest in family history and turned my heart to my ancestors.

“What exactly is a …” I struggled to remember the word.
“Seder. It’s an important part of Passover. A ceremonial dinner on the first day of Passover to remind us of the struggles that Moses and the children of Israel had while they tried to leave Egypt,” Sarah explained.
Sarah and I walked down the halls of our high school, our usual chatter of movies, classes, and rehearsal schedules interrupted by the invitation to a formal dinner at her house. I had invited friends to Church activities many times, but this sudden turn of events unsettled me. I was the one who usually extended invitations to religious activities! I wasn’t expecting Sarah to invite me to one of hers!
“My mom said that your whole family could come if they want to. The normal service lasts for hours, but we’ll do the abridged version for you. There’s even this game that Alli can play. We hide matzo, and she has to find it.” I could see my little sister shrieking with laughter as she tore around the house, looking for the cracker-like bread.
“I’ll ask my mom,” I replied.
I had moved from Utah to Iowa when I was seven and was startled to find no members of the Church in my class at school. Where once I had found many Church friends at school, I now led a split sort of life with school friends on one hand and Church friends on the other. I had been able to balance the two separately for quite some time, but this invitation had upset that balance.
That night, I presented the idea to my mother, who was more than willing to accept Sarah’s invitation. My mother taught seminary, and with the school year drawing to a close, she was looking ahead to teaching the Old Testament, which contains the history of Passover.
Later that week, my family found ourselves settled around a table that was set as formally as one we might have had for a Christmas or birthday celebration. There were a few differences: a traditional plate that was ornately decorated with various scenes contained different foods to accompany each painting. Parsley and salt water, hard-boiled eggs, horseradish, and matzo each represented the pain, bitterness, and other experiences of the children of Israel. Throughout the meal, our families were able to discover various religious similarities and differences. I was really glad Sarah had invited me to this special occasion in her home.

“I’m impressed with the five goals you scored in today’s game.” Collin turned around and realized the man was talking to him. “I’m starting a new soccer team and want to know if you would like to be on it.”
“Would I ever!” Collin thought. Collin was nine, and he enjoyed playing soccer. When he and his parents attended the first planning meeting for the new team, the coach explained that they would be playing in many tournaments on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. “Not on Sunday,” Collin thought.
After talking with his parents, Collin told the coach he wanted very much to be on the new team, but he would not play soccer on Sunday. He thought the coach would be mad and not let him be on the team. The coach paused for a moment and told Collin that he still wanted him to play. Collin felt peace in his heart and knew he had made the right decision. He was glad he had made the team. His parents reminded him that even if he had not been allowed to join the team, he had made the right decision.

I have become a product of that, because when my mother’s family arrived here in Salt Lake City, they were sent out to Tooele to settle. Then later they were sent up into Idaho, where a sawmill and a gristmill were needing to be built. My father’s family had settled in Farmington, Utah, part of this colonization that I’m referring to—the colonization that made people stronger and gave them opportunities. Rather than being lost in a big city, they were asked to move to a smaller community where they could develop their ability and where there would be more schools and a need for more schoolteachers and where people with talent would develop their ability. Out of all of this, my family were asked to leave Farmington and Tooele, to sell their green acres, and go out into southern Idaho, where there was nothing at that time but sagebrush.
In a little settlement of that kind, my mother and father fell in love. By the time they were 20 years old and ready to be married, where would they be married? In the Logan Utah Temple. How would they get there? By buggy. How long would it take? Well, five or six or seven days. Highways and good roads? Of course not. They went by roads made by wagons going over the sagebrush and through the bushes and over the rocks. Where would they be married? Where would they be sealed? Only one place—the temple. They went by buggy.

As Sunday approached, the adversary put many obstacles in my path that could have easily prevented me from attending. How grateful I am that the Holy Ghost persisted.
I felt nervous as I entered the building, but the opening hymn in sacrament meeting reassured me that I was home again. The hymn “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30) invited the Spirit so powerfully that tears flowed down my face. I knew in that instant that Heavenly Father was aware of me and the deep sadness I was feeling.
That hymn has become an unofficial anthem of sorts for the Church, but it has become my personal anthem as well.
“Come,” the hymn invites me. “Though hard to you this journey may appear, grace shall be as your day.”
My journey was hard. But grace did attend me as promised.
Bishop Darren Bird and the rest of the congregation were wonderful and welcoming. They accepted me as their brother in Christ.
The words of “Come, Come, Ye Saints” took on greater meaning to me, however, as I felt Heavenly Father directing me on how I should proceed.
We’ll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.
I went west and bought a home in Fountain Hills, Arizona, USA, where I met Bishop Jerry Olson. When I requested to meet with him and shook his hand, the Spirit impressed upon me that this man would help bring me back into full activity in the Church.
As I began visiting with the bishop and embarking on this reconciliation with Heavenly Father, I witnessed many spiritual miracles. I was open with the bishop, for which he was grateful. He said that helped him better understand where I had been and where I was now in my relationship with God. He also lovingly informed me that this was the first time that he had had an opportunity to minister to someone with same-sex attraction, and he asked for my patience and forgiveness if he said or did anything to offend me throughout the process.
I thanked him for his honesty and said, “Well, this is my first time as well. We’ll learn together.”
Thus began a wonderful journey and friendship!
Soon I had an action plan on how to become a member again. I accepted the loving and prayerful counsel with a grateful heart and began the process.
Illustration by Jenna Palacios
Later, as I followed that counsel and worked hard to draw closer to Christ, I received the restoration of my priesthood and temple blessings and accepted a call to serve in the elders quorum. In the holy temple, as I communed with Heavenly Father, He showed me how much He loves all His children. I felt solace and a deep desire to please Him.
Months later, a new bishop was called, with whom I have also developed a loving friendship. Bishop Larry Radford knew of my circumstance and appreciated my service in the elders quorum, where he said I had served with love and devotion not only for the quorum but also—and more importantly—for God. His kind words and encouragement helped me feel that the Lord and my fellow Saints were pleased with my service.
I now faithfully serve as the ward clerk.
Having same-sex attraction and being an active member of the Church is not always easy. But as I put all my faith and trust in God, I can feel Him strengthening me. Critics will no doubt say that I’m not being true to who I am or that I’m disappointing the LGBT+ community.
I understand their frustration, and I obviously don’t have all the answers. I can only speak of my own experience. And that experience has taught me this: I am Heavenly Father’s son, a child of God. That’s the one and only label that matters to me. As a result, I try not to allow the world’s labels to define me. I fear that will limit my potential and eternal progression.
Satan is very clever. He knows that by using labels, he can divide us as a community and as a church.
With that perspective in mind, the choices I make are not based on my same-sex attraction but on how to be a true disciple of Christ with same-sex attraction. As Nephi said:
“O Lord, I have trusted in thee, and I will trust in thee forever. I will not put my trust in the arm of flesh. …
“… I know that God will give liberally to him that asketh. Yea, my God will give me, if I ask not amiss; therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yea, I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold, my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God” (2 Nephi 4:34–35).
Throughout my return, I felt the loving companionship of my leaders and fellow Saints, including active and less-active LGBT+ members. I found a place where I could thrive. I found among them the attributes of Christ that I had always associated with my faith: mercy, compassion, understanding, and, above all, love.
As I struggled along the path with my Savior, I felt comfort and peace as I turned to Him, knowing that I wasn’t walking that path alone. Several bishops were there beside me. Members of my quorum. Sisters in the ward. I even had a young man in the ward ask me if I would ordain him a priest. His kind invitation deeply moved me. He saw me as a man who holds the priesthood of God and who can exercise that priesthood in service to others.
These opportunities to serve and worship with my fellow Saints have lifted me and—along with the many blessings I’ve received from the Lord—helped me experience the love, understanding, and acceptance that I needed.
The Savior said, “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you” (John 14:18). Those words are true. I needed comforting, and He came to me, more abundantly than I could have imagined.

While living in Winter Quarters, she and her brother went down the Missouri River to purchase provisions and clothing. They had two wagons, each having two yoke of oxen. Camping for the night, they discovered in the morning that their two best oxen were gone. Young Joseph and his uncle spent the entire morning looking for the lost animals. They found nothing. Disheartened, he returned to tell his mother. Their situation was desperate, terribly so. As he approached, he saw her on her knees praying fervently, speaking with the Lord about their problem. When she arose to her feet, there was a smile on her face. She told her son and her brother to get their breakfast and she would look around. Following a little stream of water, and disregarding the words of a man who was in the area, she went directly along the bank of the river.
Pausing, she called to her son and brother. She pointed to their oxen, which had been tied to a clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch. The thief, who had tried to misdirect her, lost his prize and they were saved.
Mary’s faith imprinted itself in her son’s boyish heart. He never forgot it. He never doubted her closeness to the Lord.

The very next day I had to go to the temple alone, leaving my family behind at the patron house. When I entered the temple, I was struck with fear because of language. I felt confused not knowing what to do, where to go, and how to participate in the ordinances. I was troubled. But God comforted me by offering help. Just then a sister appeared. She was full of love, she welcomed me with a hug; I was filled with warmth of the Holy Ghost—the Comforter. Thereafter, I was taught everything by the Holy Ghost. And I witnessed the presence of Heavenly Father and His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ, in the temple. I had a very glorious experience—an experience that will guide me through eternity. I knew then that no witness is given to us until after the trail of our faith.

It is well known that Joseph and Emma adopted the Murdock twins into their family and raised Julia, the one who survived the mobbing at Hiram, Ohio, as one of their own children. After experiencing an extremely difficult marriage, Julia returned to Emma Smith and was cared for with the same love that had been so much a part of her youth. Perhaps less well known are several acts of kindness related in the diaries of early members of the Church.
In 1841 the Walker family consisting of father, John Walker, the mother, Lydia Adams Holmes Walker, and their ten children, moved to Nauvoo. This faithful family had survived the Haun’s Mill Massacre and the persecution of the Missourians in those terrible days of 1838 and 1839. Now very poor, they arrived in the Mormon capital filled with hope and expectation. Staying with their father’s brother they were introduced to Joseph Smith that first evening. Summer brought chills and fever into the Walker home and left Sister Walker in a helpless condition. Joseph, upon hearing of her delicate health, came with Emma and took this good sister into his own home believing that the change might lead to an improvement in her health. Not content to be away from her children for very long, the still ill Lydia persuaded the Smiths to return her to her home. Placing the bed in a sleigh, covering her with blankets, because now winter had come, she was carefully taken there; and calling her children together, exhorted them never to depart from the truth and to so live that she might meet them “in the world where there will be no more suffering, no more tears of anguish.” Closing her eyes, she died leaving a heavenly smile on her dear face.
Sister Walker’s death left ten motherless children, the youngest not quite two years old. The weight of sorrow seemed to break the health of Brother Walker and soon the family feared that he would die.
Learning of their great distress, Joseph again came to help. He told Brother Walker that unless he went away for a rest he would join his wife and then said, “You have just such a family as I could love. My house shall be their home, for the present, I would advise you to sell your home, place your children with kind friends, and the four eldest shall come to my house and be treated as my own children. And if I find the little ones not content, or not treated right I will bring them home and keep them until you return.”
This was done and Lucy records that frequently the Prophet would loan them his carriage so that they could go visit their brothers and sisters now living in other parts of the city. Then Lydia, just eight years old, got brain fever. Fearing for her life and true to his promise, the Prophet took her into his home where he prayed for her recovery, nursed her as one of his own, only to see her linger a few days and then join her mother in the spirit world. Emma and Joseph accompanied the children as the body of little Lydia was taken to its final resting place. One by one all the remaining children found their way into the Prophet’s home where they remained until he, too, was taken by death. Then their father returned in good health and in due time they accompanied him across the plains. They would never forget the kindness, love and genuine concern Joseph and Emma had shown their family.
Mary Ann Stearns, step-daughter of Elder Parley P. Pratt, in her unpublished autobiography, relates an experience that her family had with the Prophet Joseph that also illustrates his great capacity for kindness. Returning from his mission to England with his family and a group of immigrants by way of St. Louis, Missouri the group was detained four weeks because of cold weather and the great chunks of ice that floated on the a!most frozen Mississippi River. When they finally did arrive in Nauvoo the anxiety of the Britons to see the Prophet Joseph was only exceeded by the anxiety of the Saints in Nauvoo concerning the safety of the immigrants. Thus Joseph and Hyrum and a large company of people were at the landing to greet the newcomers. Elder Pratt introduced the company to the two illustrious leaders and when all except the Pratts had disembarked and had gone to their homes, the Prophet came into the cabin of the boat where the Pratts were.
“After a cordial greeting, he took a seat and taking the little boys, Parley and Nathan, upon his knees, seemed much affected, Brother Pratt remarking, ‘We took away three children and have brought back five.’ Then Brother Joseph said, “Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned bringing your sheaves with you,” the tears streaming down his face. Brother Pratt, seeing the general emotion this caused, said, ‘If you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we will have to go back again,’ tears of joy filling his own eyes.”
Elder Pratt’s remark seemed to break the spell, smiles returned and joy continued to fill all their hearts. Then Joseph, arising, said, “Come, Brother Parley, bring your folks right up to my house; it is only a little way, and you can be more comfortable after your long journey.” Sister Pratt, very ill, was placed in a large comfortable chair and carried by Brother Hodge and others of Joseph’s bodyguards to the Prophet’s home where a really special evening was enjoyed by the entire family.
The Prophet’s kindness it seems, extended to all of God’s children. A great illustration of his respect for all men is an incident related by Jane E. Manning, an early black convert to the Church, which she wrote in 1893. In 1842, Sister Manning joined the Church in Connecticut, and at great personal cost and even greater risk, she with several other black Church members made their way to Nauvoo. Walking until their shoes were worn out and their feet were so sore that they cracked open and bled until they could see the “whole print of their feet with blood on the ground,” this courageous group arrived in Peoria, Illinois, only to be threatened by the authorities with a jail sentence if their papers were not in order. Producing the proper papers they were freed, and continued their journey crossing rivers so deep that the water ran up to their necks. Arriving finally in Nauvoo they were directed to the Prophet Joseph Smith’s home and, in the words of Aunt Jane:
“Sister Emma was standing in the door, and she kindly said, come in, come in! Brother Joseph said to some of the white sisters that were present, Sisters, I want you to occupy this room this evening with some brothers and sisters that have just arrived. Brother Joseph placed the chairs around the room and then he went and brought Sister Emma and Dr. Bernhisel and introduced them to us, Brother Joseph took a chair and sat down by me and said, you have been the head of this little band haven’t you? I answered yes sir! he then said God bless you! Now I would like you to relate your experience in your travels, I related to them all that I have above stated and a great deal more minutely, since many incidents have passed from my memory since then. Brother Joseph slapped Dr. Bernhisel on the knee and said, ‘what do you think of that Dr., isn’t that faith?’ The Dr. said, well, I rather think it is, if it had been me I fear I should have quit and returned to my home.”
The entire group stayed in the Prophet’s home for an entire week, until proper housing was secured for them. The Prophet came into their room each morning to find out how they were and one day gave Jane, who had lost her clothes on the way, some new ones. Another morning, finding her crying because all the others had found homes, he left the room, talked with Emma a few moments and then asked Jane Manning if she would live with his family. Giving her consent, she ironed, washed, and cooked for them and never forgot the kindness of Joseph and Emma Smith. She died faithful to the Church in April, 1908, always grateful for the time she had spent in the Prophet’s home.
On another occasion, Emily Williams, widowed, not yet a member of the Church, residing in Michigan, saw her baby girl become very ill and after many days heard the doctor tell her that all hope for the baby’s recovery was gone. Hearing that Joseph Smith was in the area visiting his cousins, she sent for him to come and administer to her child. The Prophet came with his father and kneeling down by the little girl laid hands on her head and promised her that she would recover. Emily reports that “the child turned over, her fits left her and she went to sleep and was completely healed the next morning.
Thus it becomes apparent that the Prophet Joseph Smith provides for all of us an example of kindness and love for all men, that even today challenges the best in each Latter-day Saint.

Sandra: As a child, the experience with prayer that impressed me most was kneeling together with my father and older sisters and brothers, pleading for the life of “little Linda,” one of our four-month-old twins.
Overnight she had become ill—burning up with fever. Mother was at the hospital with the twins; Dad had come home after an all-night vigil and wearily gathered us together for prayer.
We were all alarmed and a little insecure to see him so contrite in the very depths of humility.
I remember how he begged and pleaded with the Lord for the life of that little baby, the tears streaming down his face. I also remember feeling that the heavens were opened—those pleadings were heard and received.
When little Linda died, I knew the Lord had said no. I didn’t understand why, but I knew somehow it would be all right.

Dad’s dependable ranch hand, Dick, had already disappeared with the snowplow behind the thick curtain of moving snow when Ellie Ford went outside. The low hay sled was loaded with timothy hay, and two teams were hitched to it.

“Come on, Sis!” Ellie’s ten-year-old brother, Wes, called. “I’ll help you up!”

Wes scrambled to the top of the hay and reached down a hand to Ellie. He laughed as she struggled up the ladder of the rack. Wes’s round, freckled face between the earflaps of his red woolen cap beamed cheerfully.

How can he be so cheerful? Ellie wondered. It’s Christmas Day, and we’re stuck here on the ranch playing nursemaids to a bunch of silly cattle instead of being at Grandmother’s.

Wes moved the teams expertly out of the barnyard and down the lane between the sapling maple trees.

It was the Ford family’s first year at ranching, and Ellie thought again of the changes that had been made in their lives. In the city they had been surrounded by friends and relatives. But here in the sandhills, their nearest neighbor lived ten miles away.

The snowstorm had begun two days ago when they were dismissed from school for Christmas vacation. The wind-driven pellets had made a pinging sound against the school bus as it chugged along toward the crossroads where Ellie and Wes were the last to get off. By the time they had reached home, the corn snow had turned into huge fluffy flakes.

Ellie had known that something was wrong when her father came in from the living room that night at suppertime looking anxiously at first one member of his family and then another. Finally he announced to them after the blessing was said, “There’s a blizzard predicted for the sandhills, and I’ve decided I’d better stay here on the ranch.”

The announcement was greeted with gasps and exclamations.

“But that doesn’t mean that the rest of you can’t go!” he hurried to say. “It’s just that Dick will need help so the trails can be kept open to the feed shelters. Those cattle mean a lot to our future.”

“I’ll stay too!” Wes cried, not hesitating an instant.

“You’ll need someone to stay and cook for you,” Mother told them. “But Ellie can still go down to Grandmother’s tomorrow on the train from Cody. She’s been planning on it since Thanksgiving.”

Ellie knew that they had all been planning on it. She knew, too, that no matter how badly she wanted to go, she just couldn’t. “Maybe I can help somehow,” she finally managed to say, fighting the hard lump in her throat.

“That’s what I hoped for!” Father had exclaimed approvingly. “A solid front! And I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

But Ellie didn’t see how he could make up for a spoiled Christmas.

Now as the feed shelter loomed in front of them through the falling snow, Ellie asked, “Wes, do you think we’ll be snowed in?”

Wes grinned and guided the teams under the shelter before he answered, “I hope so!”

“Why, Wes Ford! Do you mean you’d rather be here than at Grandmother’s?”

“I would rather be at Grandmother’s, Ellie,” Wes replied, “but Christmas can be Christmas wherever you are.”

Though he was just a year older than Ellie, Wes sounded quite grownup. His words made Ellie feel a quick shame for her complaining thoughts. They had just picked up their pitchforks when Wes suddenly frowned. “Sis, some of the cattle are missing!” he declared.

“Could they be at the other shelters?” Ellie asked.

“Maybe. But maybe they’re not. Do you remember what Dick and Dad said about the river fence?” Wes asked thoughtfully.

Ellie shook her head.

“They said that it was strong enough for ordinary weather, but if those cattle got lost in a blinding snowstorm, they could go right through it and end up in White River!”

“We’re not going over to the river to see if they’re there!” Ellie protested.

“I’m going,” Wes told her. “Dick can’t leave that snowplow, and Dad’s on the other wagon with the concentrate.”

“Well, I’ll go with you then,” Ellie recanted.

When the hay had been pitched off into the feeders, they started out on foot. Ellie’s feet soon grew numb from the bitter cold, and her legs began to protest against the constant effort to push onward up another hill. There was no horizon, only the dull white sky and the white earth and the eternal falling of the snow.

There were no trees to use as guideposts, only the rise and fall of the blanketed hills. “Just a little farther, Sis,” Wes encouraged her, beating his arms against his body.

Now and then, Wes looked anxiously at the sky, and Ellie was sure that despite his cheerfulness, he realized the danger of being lost. But the thought of the cattle in danger kept him going.

They had reached the top of another rise, and Ellie was telling herself that she just could not go up another hill when Wes shouted with relief, “There’s the river!”

He rushed down the hill, and Ellie tried to hurry after him. “There they are! And look, Sis, they’re hugging that fence!”

There were more than twenty head reluctant to leave the protection of the trees. Ellie remembered apprehensively that they were range cattle and that they were used to men on horseback. She held back her fright as she helped Wes start them moving.

When they finally reached the shelter again, Ellie flung herself down on the hay sled and decided that she had never been so tired and cold in her life. Only after the cattle were safe and munching hay did Wes suggest they drink the hot chocolate their mother had put in a thermos bottle.

“Let’s hurry home, Wes,” Ellie said. “It’s nearly two o’clock.”

But Wes was looking down the hill toward the road. “Sis,” he said, “there’s a car down there. Looks like it’s in trouble.”

When they had finished their chocolate, the car was still there. “I’m going down and see if I can give them a hand,” Wes declared.

“Oh, Wes,” moaned Ellie. “We’ve already ruined our Christmas. The snowplow will come along soon …”

Wes didn’t answer, but Ellie saw the determined look in his blue eyes as he started away. Feeling sorry for herself, she reluctantly waded after him. The figures in the road had been trying to dig out their car when Wes and Ellie reached the fence.

“Hi, there!” the man shouted, looking up and waving his arm.

“Why, it’s Dr. Davis, Wes! And his nurse Mary!” Ellie exclaimed in surprise.

Wes and Ellie climbed over the fence.

“Hello, Wes. Hello, Ellie,” Mary said. “I thought we’d never see civilization again. Dr. Davis’s car doesn’t like snow.”

“Well,” Wes offered, “I’m not a mechanic, but I have a sled and teams up there at the shelter—”

Mary didn’t let him finish. She grabbed Ellie’s arm and they started for the fence.

Dr. Davis chuckled as he locked the car. “We’ve been over at the Anderson ranch since last night. They have a new six-pound girl. And we were trying to get home for Christmas dinner.”

Ellie heard Dr. Davis as she helped Mary over the fence. Her eyes caught sight of the gold bars on the turned-up collar of Mary’s heavy navy blue cape.

Suddenly Ellie thought of all the other people in the world who, like Dr. Davis and Mary, could not always be just where they wanted to be at Christmastime. But that didn’t mean that Christmas was lost! It couldn’t be, as long as people carry the spirit of Christmas in their hearts.

And Ellie understood now what that spirit was. Wes had taught her today, here in the snow-covered sandhills, much about loving and unselfish concern for others.

I’m going to give Mary the knitted bed cape I made for Grandmother! Ellie decided as the teams and hay sled headed for the ranch house a few minutes later. I’m sure Grandmother will understand!

Hard work and faithful, diligent service has always been a part of Elder and Sister Mutombo’s life together. Heartache and adversity have been as well. Four of the Mutombo’s first six children died while infants. The youngest died at one week old, the oldest died of sudden infant death, at 9 months old. In the face of the heartbreak of losing four children, Thierry and Nathalie’s faith in God and love for each other was undeterred. Today, they have six living children, Jason, Blessing, Ariel, Marvel, Harvest, and Ruby. Ruby, their tenth child and third daughter, was born while the Mutombos led the Maryland Baltimore mission. Despite the challenges they have faced, they are happy, cheerful, faithful people.

Earlier in the day, we had taken about a dozen reporters and members of the media through the temple. Each had come to cover the temple open house as part of his or her work obligations and had a busy morning setting up cameras and microphones and testing equipment for a media event to follow. So initially they entered the temple out of a sense of duty, with mild curiosity and perhaps a little skepticism as to why they should take the time when they had so much else to do. However, as we progressed from room to room, the curiosity gave way to respect and to a feeling of profound reverence and peace. Before entering the celestial room, we invited them to take time to consider their personal feelings about God and, if they wished, to meditate or pray. To our amazement, almost every member of that group of worldly professionals then sat in the celestial room with heads bowed. A beautiful feeling came over all present. We felt impressed to share our personal testimonies of how wonderful it is to come to the temple and to leave outside the cares and worries of the world as we focus on the Savior and feel the presence of His Spirit.

Carter snarled and growled in the backseat of the car. He could see his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked just like a Tyrannosaurus rex! Carter held up two fingers like claws and turned to his brothers.
“Are you excited to see the dinosaurs?” he growled.
McKay and Stockton raised their fingers like claws and roared, “Yes!”
Carter’s family was going to the museum to see the new T. rex fossil on display. Carter and his brothers were excited to see the skeleton of a real dinosaur. Carter was especially excited because he wanted to get a dinosaur T-shirt from the museum gift shop.
When the family arrived at the museum, Carter, McKay, and Stockton looked at everything, sometimes twice. They pushed buttons that roared different dinosaur roars. They stacked wooden dinosaur eggs into dinosaur nests. But best of all was the T. rex fossil.
The skeleton was huge! The dinosaur’s clawed toes were bigger than Carter’s whole head. Carter couldn’t decide between smiling because he was so happy or snarling like a dinosaur.
On the way out of the museum, Dad took Carter into the gift shop. “I can tell you liked seeing that dinosaur,” he said. “Pick out a T-shirt to share with your brothers to remember the fun we had together today.”
Carter looked through all the shirts carefully. He chose a black one with a T. rex skull baring its teeth, just like the one in the museum.
In the car, Carter was so excited that he put the T-shirt on over his regular shirt right away.
“You picked the best one!” McKay said.
“It’s for all of us to share,” Carter said. He leaned back so McKay could see the T. rex’s teeth better. “But I really want to wear it tomorrow so I can show my friends at school.”
“Sure you can,” McKay said. “I know how much you wanted a T. rex shirt.”
Carter settled back in his seat and thought about all the things he could tell his friends about the museum. He thought about how much he and his brothers had liked the dinosaur. Then he thought that McKay would probably want to wear the shirt to school too so he could tell his friends about the great day they had.
Carter decided he would love to see McKay happy, so as soon as they got home he took off the shirt and handed it to McKay. “You wear it to school tomorrow, McKay!” he said.
“Really?” McKay asked.
“I know you like T. rex too. I can wear it the next day.”
“Wow, thanks!” McKay hugged Carter and bounded out of the room to try on the shirt.
Carter felt warm and happy knowing he had made McKay so happy.
“I was happy at the museum, and I was happy wearing the T. rex T-shirt,” Carter thought. “But now I’m the happiest of all!”