Gospel Story Finder

When I read in the Book of Mormon about how Nephi always supported his visionary father, I concluded that most youth in the Church were probably like Nephi. But when my family decided that we needed to move to the desert, I felt more like Laman and Lemuel. I didn’t want to leave my home.
Like Nephi and his brothers, I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Nephi 1:1). Both joined the Church when they were teenagers, and my mother waited for my father while he served a mission. They were active, hardworking members of the Church.
When I was in high school, the economy slowed down in our region of Concepción, Chile. Jobs dried up, and my father began having trouble finding work. Finally, he began looking for a job out of town.
His job search took him north to the city of Calama, in Chile’s mining region. He is a construction engineer, and he found a good job there. But he was alone and far away. We saw him only when he could afford the 32-hour bus ride home.
After a few years of seeing my father only two or three times a year, my mother felt that it was time to make a change. My parents concluded that the rest of our family needed to move north.
My younger brother had no problem moving. And my older sister, who was in college, set a good example for me.
“I’ll sacrifice my studies,” she said. “We need to be with our father.”
Everyone supported the decision to move except for me. I wanted to be with my father too, but I resisted making changes and personal sacrifices. I had my friends, I knew my surroundings, I enjoyed my lifestyle, and I wanted to go to college in Concepción. I did everything I could do to convince my mother that we shouldn’t go.
Finally, she said, “Son, your father is alone. He wants us with him. I wish you understood, but you’re too focused on yourself.” Then she reassured me, “We will have opportunities there.”
In my heart, I knew she was right—even though my head wasn’t convinced. I didn’t have a strong testimony at the time, but I decided to pray about whether I should go with my family. A clear answer came to me: “You need to leave this place.” I was sad, but I told my parents I would go.
Concepción is a green place with lots of trees. It receives 50 inches (127 cm) of rain per year. Antofagasta, the city near Calama we were moving to, receives only 0.1 inch (0.25 cm) per year.
The most shocking thing for me about the move was the actual trip. As we made our way north by bus, watching the transition from green to brown was agonizing. I wondered, “Where are the trees? Where are the cows in the countryside?” All I saw was dirt, rocks, and hills.
Obviously, northern Chile is a desert, so what else could I expect? I was reminded of how Laman and Lemuel felt when Lehi’s family left the land of their inheritance and headed into the wilderness.
I had a lot of fears when we arrived in Antofagasta. What would happen if I didn’t make any friends? What would happen if I couldn’t get used to the area? What would happen if my hopes for the future didn’t come true?
In the end, I shouldn’t have worried. My mother was right about the opportunities awaiting us—especially the spiritual opportunities.
Before our move, the gospel wasn’t a priority for me. The Lord was in the background. But in Antofagasta, people came into my life who helped me see the beauty of the gospel. I received help from special priesthood leaders. I made friends who remain a treasure to me. My spiritual life changed completely.
I’m grateful I listened to my mother. I’m grateful the Lord answered my prayer. I’m grateful I had the courage to move north with my family.
Here in the desert is where I made the changes that helped me become who I am today. Here is where I committed to embrace the gospel, serve a mission, marry in the temple, and dedicate my life to the Lord. Here is where I determined that I no longer wanted to be like Laman and Lemuel.
For my family and me, the wilderness turned out to be our promised land.
The author lives in Antofagasta, Chile.

When Dad was called as bishop, he reminded the stake president that he was 70 years old. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” he had said.
“How old do you think the Brethren are up in Salt Lake City?” the stake president had asked in reply. “You weren’t our first pick. You weren’t even our second pick. You were the Lord’s pick.”
Dad knew that he had been called of God, and he became a good bishop. There was nothing flashy about him. He was not an expert on the scriptures. He was just a down-to-earth man who showed a lot of empathy for ward members.
While Dad served as bishop, I served as a counselor in another bishopric in our stake. As we attended leadership meetings together, our relationship became focused on Christ, and I got to know his spiritual side.
When Dad was called as bishop in 1994, he was suffering from health problems. “Does this calling guarantee me five more years of life?” he jokingly asked the stake president. Two years after Dad was released, he passed away.

It was Houston’s transfer to the Benin City stake that introduced him to Raymond. Raymond arrived in Benin a few days later directly from his missionary training in Lagos. Houston joined Raymond and his companion to proselyte on Raymond’s first day. When Raymond expressed his fear about teaching a discussion on his first day, he remembers Houston’s encouragement: “Elder, go ahead and do it. I had the same experience. If I did it, you can do it, too.”

Raymond recalls, “I was filled with strength and confidence. And when I finished the discussion, Houston tapped me on the knee and said, ‘Elder, you came out okay.’ This experience kindled a feeling of respect for him. And as our paths have crossed many times since our missions, that feeling has only increased.”

Developing new friendships. As a newly single sister, I became aware of two widowed sisters in my ward and three others recently divorced, and we became fast friends. We get together often, usually on Friday nights. Our times together have helped us grow close. We support and encourage each other. We have fun together. One sister in the ward, who is a therapist, occasionally meets with us and helps us understand our feelings and deal with our challenges. We look for the positive side of each sister’s trying circumstances. And each of us, at one time or another, has expressed the thought that our difficulties have brought us to a new level of spiritual closeness to our Heavenly Father. Although we would not choose our trying circumstances, we acknowledge the blessings that have flowed into our lives as a result.

Let me tell you about a young Laurel president who explained it this way: “I was called to be a class president of seventeen girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared of such responsibility. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted?

“I wrote seventeen names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names … I kept thinking and praying and [crossing off names] until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works.”

It is appropriate for her and for you to recognize and witness the power of the Holy Ghost as you seek inspiration concerning the calls you have received from your Heavenly Father through your bishop.

Two scenes from Brigham Young’s apostolic years give an insight into his continuing dedication to this goal. Both are from the year 1839.

The first occurred in February. Joseph Smith was imprisoned in Liberty Jail, and Brigham Young was directing the affairs of the Church as President of the Quorum of the Twelve. The problem at hand was to move the Saints from Missouri to Illinois. Few persons were well equipped for the move; many were destitute, and in their haste to leave, the temptation to run for one’s own life was strong. But in Brigham Young’s mind, this was not a course of action for true Saints of God. Surely society would never endure unless men could learn love, compassion, and concern for each other.

Accordingly, a meeting was called and a covenant drawn up, stating in effect that the signers would never leave until they had aided all of the poor to leave with them. Brigham Young and his family, accompanied by the family of Heber C. Kimball (Elder Kimball having remained in Missouri), set out in the cold February climate, with their wagons aimed toward Illinois, in one of the strangest processions in the entire Mormon emigration experience.

After traveling as much as thirty-two kilometers across the frozen Missouri plains, Brigham would stop, establish a temporary shelter for his wife and five children, and then retrace his journey to its point of origin. There he would load up some of the poor and destitute Saints and return to his family. In this way he actually covered three times the distance of most of his fellow travelers. Later, at the ending of their journey—Quincy, Illinois—an impressive meeting was held. The Saints in Quincy learned that fifty families were still in Far West and were too poor to leave. They pulled together once more, offering to sell what little they had left—their hats, coats, and shoes—to raise funds for this movement. Brigham Young comments:

“We broke bread and partook of the Sacrament. At the close of the meeting $50 was collected in money and several teams were subscribed to go and bring out the brethren. Among the subscribers was Widow Warren Smith, whose husband and son had been killed at the massacre at Haun’s Mill. She sent her only team on this charitable mission.”

Through these experiences and many others like them, Brigham Young was buoyed up in his conviction that people can be drawn together in love, that they do have the ability to create a more Christian society founded on love and concern for others.

During this time I was blessed with so many people who would tell me about what they learned each Sunday at church. One of those people was Stephanie. She had been living in Italy when my uncle joined the Church, but she had returned to her home in the United States. My uncle thought it would be good for us to write to each other, so I added her as a friend on Facebook.

Even though we had never met in person, I will always be grateful to her for helping me build my faith and learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. She wrote to me almost every Sunday and told me everything she learned in church and then would answer my questions. She was a great friend to me.

On another occasion we were at the visitors’ center on Temple Square with these same grandchildren. Two-year-old Ashley was tired and wanted to leave. Sister Mask asked her if she wanted to see a big Jesus like the one on our wall. She asked, “Is He as big as me?” “Even bigger,” Sister Mask replied. When that tiny, little girl looked up at the majestic Christus, she ran and stood at the feet and gazed up reverently for several minutes. When her father indicated it was time to go, she said, “No, no, Daddy. He loves me and wants to give me hugs!”

Tommy’s father was among those chosen to leave Garden Grove and go to Council Bluffs to build up a settlement there. It was early June. The rainy season was over, and the tall grass would open up just long enough to let the wagons pass and then close up behind them. When Tommy looked back, there was no sign of where they had been.
Betsy often picked berries along the way, and sometimes her father caught a wild turkey for their supper. It was a happy time. The wagon train finally camped on the banks of the great Missouri River.
The next day they moved up onto the bluff where Tommy could look straight down into the muddy Missouri River.
They could get good spring water near the tall cliff that rose straight up from the riverbed and then leveled off into the flat prairie country. It was here that the great explorers Lewis and Clark held their councils with the Indians. It was they who named it Council Bluffs.
Tommy and his father were assigned to build the ferry. Brigham Young wanted a group of men to cross the river and go to the valley to plow, plant, and build in preparation for the Saints’ arrival.
By the end of June the ferry was completed. Preparations were being made for the men to leave for the West when four United States soldiers rode into camp to talk with the leaders.
At noon Brigham Young called a public meeting and introduced Captain James Allen of the United States Army to the people. Captain Allen stepped forward and spoke. “The United States is at war with Mexico. The President has sent me to recruit five hundred men to join the army and march to California.” He had scarcely finished speaking when everyone started to talk at once.
Then Brigham Young arose and said: “If we want the privilege of going where we can worship God according to the dictates of our conscience, we must raise the battalion. I say that not one of those who enlist will fall at the hands of the nation’s foe. I will do my best to see that their families are cared for. I will feed them whenever I have anything to eat myself. The pay that the five hundred men receive will take their families to the valley. It is right for us to go, and I know you will.”
After Captain Allen left, the council held a meeting. Following this meeting, some of the brethren left for Pisgah to recruit volunteers.
Tommy looked at his father and his father looked at him. Neither spoke, but in his heart Tommy knew what his father was thinking. After a few minutes he stepped forward. The boy knew his father was to be one of the volunteers. Tommy’s mother knew it too, and she leaned over and whispered, “Don’t you think the flag your father gave you in Nauvoo should be flying from a tall pole rather than lying in the bottom of the wagon box?”
Tommy smiled and ran to get the flag. His father helped him hang it from a tall tree that had been stripped of its branches. When the Saints saw it unfurl in the gentle breeze, it was as if they had met an old friend who was dear to their hearts, one that had almost been forgotten. After a moment someone began to sing a patriotic song, and soon everyone was singing.
Tommy thought of his great-grandfather, who had died for his country many years before. When the song ended, Tommy’s father said, “It is good for us to remember we have a country. I pledge myself to honor, sustain, and uphold that country as long as I live.”

It was Easter morning, and Peter was grumbling.
He had looked everywhere, but he couldn’t find his favorite black church socks. Instead, he put on the only socks he could find—white ones with holes in the toes—and walked into the kitchen.
“Mom, can you pour me some cereal?” Peter asked as he plopped into his chair.
His mother and his stepfather, Jack, were dressing his two baby brothers, who were screaming so loudly it hurt Peter’s ears.
“Peter, can you do it yourself, please?” his mom answered. “I’m really busy.”
Peter understood that he needed to do his part to help at home. He knew Mom couldn’t do as much for him as she did before the babies were born. Sometimes it seemed to Peter as if nobody noticed what he was doing, but he tried to choose the right anyway.
As Peter poured the milk, he spilled some on his shirt and pants. He grumbled as he grabbed a towel and tried to wipe himself off.
Peter hadn’t always been grumbly. His grumbling started around the time his parents divorced and Dad moved to another state. After Mom married Jack, Peter got twin baby brothers who seemed to take up all of Mom’s time. It seemed Mom and Jack were always feeding the babies, dressing them, or getting them ready for bed.
Sometimes Peter felt sad and alone. Even though he was eight years old, he still wished someone would help him do things like thread his belt through all the loops of his pants or comb his hair the right way. Sometimes at night, when he heard Mom singing a lullaby to his little brothers, he wished she would sing to him too. Peter wished things could go back to the way they used to be. This is why he grumbled.
As his family walked to church, Peter kicked at the rocks on the sidewalk. He followed Mom and Jack, who were carrying the babies. In sacrament meeting, Peter didn’t feel like listening to the talks. He drew pictures in his notebook instead.
Later, Peter was talking to his friend Thomas in Primary class when his teacher said something that made him stop.
“Jesus knows and loves all of us,” Sister Jones said.
Peter didn’t believe her. “He doesn’t know me!” he said.
Sister Jones turned to Peter. She said softly, “Peter, Jesus knows everything about you. He knows you have two baby brothers that you help take care of. He knows you are having a hard time and feeling lonely. And He knows that you help your mom and dad because you want to do what’s right.”
Peter hadn’t thought anybody knew all those things about him, especially the part about being lonely but still trying to choose the right. But as he listened to Sister Jones’s words and saw her kind smile, a warm feeling pushed out the lonely, grumbling feelings inside him.
“Peter, if you are feeling happy, then you are feeling the Holy Ghost,” Sister Jones said. “He is telling you that what you are hearing is true—Jesus does know and love you.”
Peter knew he was feeling the Holy Ghost. It made him feel happy to know that Jesus really did know him and love him.
After Primary, Peter walked home from church with his family like he always did. Mom and Jack carried the babies while Peter walked behind. But now he understood that he never really walked alone—Jesus knew everything about him and loved him.

Tangible evidence of Maurice’s example to other Aaronic Priesthood holders in his ward came in the way of service for his Eagle Scout project he completed last year. Maurice organized a child identification day where he invited people in his community to bring their children to the ward on a Saturday so the children could be fingerprinted and videotaped. After police gave a presentation on ways to protect children, the parents in attendance took the fingerprint cards and the videotapes home. Now, if ID information is ever needed, it will be at the parents’ fingertips.
Maurice spent numerous hours coordinating this project that attracted close to 100 children. As a bonus, he also asked people who came to bring one or two cans of food that he could then donate to a food bank. He eventually filled three big boxes with canned goods.
“What I enjoyed about that project is that it was different,” Maurice says. “I really wanted to make a difference. I hope people never have to use their video or the fingerprint cards. I don’t want it ever to come to that point. But they are a good safety net.”

Many teens who live close to Nauvoo remember what it was like before the new Nauvoo Illinois Temple was built. Brianne Bokish of the Quincy Ward says, “I remember when the temple wasn’t there. There were stones marking where the corners and walls had been. My brother and I would run around, stepping on all the rocks around the whole thing. My parents took pictures of us standing in the very center where the font had been. It doesn’t seem like so long ago, but the temple is here today.”

I grew up as a cowboy working on my family’s cattle ranch. One of my jobs was to gather hay from the fields with a dump rake, which is a giant rake pulled by a team of two horses. Driving the team, I raked up hay and dumped it into large piles. One day when I was 11, I thought I heard something broken in the rake. I pulled on the reins to stop the horses. When they stopped, I let go of the reins and jumped off to see what the problem was.
As soon as I got off, the horses turned around and looked at me. When they saw that I had let go of the reins, they bolted away, racing for the barn with the big rake bouncing along behind them. I was left far behind, alone and afraid.
When the horses got to the barn they ran through the door, but the dump rake was too big and it crashed into the barn. The doors were badly damaged and so was the rake. I knew I was in trouble.
This experience taught me to never let go of the reins, not even for a moment. Lehi’s dream in the Book of Mormon also teaches about never letting go of something—the iron rod, which is the word of God. We should never let go of the iron rod, not even for a moment. If we hold onto the gospel principles tightly, we will get where we want to go, which is back to live with Heavenly Father. If we let go of the gospel principles, bad things can happen very quickly. We must always try to choose the right and never let go of the iron rod.

“Most of you knew Brian before he left on his mission,” she was saying. “You remember that he wanted to be an individual. He would rather take off with his dog in the hills than go to church.”
“Sometimes he would disappear for days—take off in the hills with his dog,” she continued. “We would stay at home and simply pray that God would protect him, wherever he was.”
“Brian has always wanted to worship in his own way,” said his mother.
Her boy had changed. He had gone on a mission. It had been a miracle.
“I wasn’t going to be like everybody else and go on a mission,” he said. “I was different, and I knew I was all right without the Church. I thought I was happy not going to meetings, but hiking off into the mountains for days. Sometimes my parents didn’t know where I was. I know I gave them a lot of concern.”
“But the time came when my friends were going on missions, and I had to make a decision,” the missionary continued. “It was one of the most difficult times of my life. I had never even read the Book of Mormon.
“And one of my friends who was going on a mission told me: ‘Sure, you’re supposed to go on a mission, but nobody will force you to go. Just give it a chance. Read the Book of Mormon. If you don’t want to go after that, at least you gave it a chance.’
“Well, you all know how that turned out.”
“But I want to tell you how it happened,” the missionary said. “I said okay, I’d take a couple of weeks in the desert with my dog and read the Book of Mormon. My friend drove me and my dog out into the desert 100 kilometers from any road. He left us out there with nothing but a little food and our survival equipment. I told him to pick us up in the same spot in about two weeks.”
“I finished the book in two days, and I knew it was true. I knew I wanted to go on a mission. I knew I wanted to tell the world that God still cares and that he provided this book for our guidance. I was ready now. But there I was, 100 kilometers from civilization, and my friend wasn’t going to pick me up for twelve more days.
“Well, I sat down on a rock and thought about what I should do. There really wasn’t any purpose for me to stay out there anymore. So I decided I’d try to walk out. I knew the direction I should go. I knew how far I was from the road. And, although when I look back on it I realize what a crazy decision it was, I thought I could reach the road in a couple of days if I left most of my food supplies and camp gear to retrieve later with a truck. So in the morning, I started out.
“I left camp in my jacket with only a couple of apples in my pocket, my knife, and some matches. I set out at a fast pace, probably covering almost thirty kilometers by mid-afternoon. But then it began to rain.
“It was not a usual rain. It flooded. The water fell in thick black sheets around me so that I could not even see landmarks to know where I was going. My dog and I were drenched within moments, and as the afternoon dragged on, we began to shake with the cold. I huddled inside my coat, overwhelmed with a dreadful feeling. What was I going to do?
“I’d heard enough about hypothermia—where the body gets too cold—to know that I needed to get out of the rain. It was February, and with evening so close, the rain would soon turn to ice. I needed to get dry, but I was too far away from my camp gear to turn back. Luckily, at that moment, I found some shelter in the crevice of some rocks. I crawled inside, and there was just enough space for me. My dog, wet and shaking with cold, stood outside wagging her tail. I wanted to wait for the storm to pass and stayed there for what seemed like hours. It became evident that we could not stay there in that rain. I needed to move and keep my blood circulating, yet out in the cold desert the rain was still pouring down. What could I do?
“I think it was the first time in my life that I really talked with God. I conversed with him like I never had before. I told him my dog and I were in great danger if we couldn’t dry off before the water turned to ice, and if the storm should last several days, we could not find food or build a fire.
“I told Heavenly Father that I now knew the Book of Mormon was true, and that I would serve a mission to tell others to read it so they would have the same confirmation.
“For a moment I stopped pleading with him and listened. I believe I thought he would stop the rain, but the rain continued to pour down in sheets.
“Never had I prayed like I did in those moments. Suddenly, the thought came into my mind that the Lord would do his part if I would just get out there and go. Maybe he would give me the strength to withstand the cold, but I just had to get out and get moving.
“In the moment that I left those rocks, I had a feeling of peace. My dog and I walked for a hundred meters or so in the drenching rain. I walked away from the rocks and into flat, open ground. My shoes, my clothes, my matches—everything was soaking wet, and the rain was still falling down on me in gray sheets.
“But as I continued, praying in my heart for strength, praying for purpose, a sudden soft light opened up above me. I looked around. There was no rain!
“I paused and looked at the blue hills. The rain had stopped only in a large area where I walked. On the edge of the great circle around me the dark rain was still falling, like a gray veil. I couldn’t believe it. The light came down softly around me. I felt warmer, drier, and was able to walk out of the desert.”

Following a recent stake conference, Sister Lindsay and I were blessed to visit another household of faith located in rural Idaho. The young father in this home was suffering from a critical illness. A picture forever etched in my memory is of a mother and five beautiful children, together with this dear brother’s priesthood quorum leaders, kneeling around his bedside pleading with Heavenly Father for the life of this good man. He was then administered to within this circle of faith. It was our blessing recently again to meet this young couple and to hear their beautiful witnessing, their humble outpouring of spirit, of the Lord’s blessing in the restoration of the husband’s health.

That care and love I have been fortunate to observe as the blessings of ministering were poured upon my family.
While I was travelling for work some time ago, my wife fell very ill and I could not immediately be with her and the children. Her situation became so dire that she was almost admitted to hospital. All I could do was to phone her and try to comfort her.
As soon as my wife missed this one Sunday when she was ill, I got a reassuring message from one of her Relief Society sisters: that they would immediately set in motion a chain of actions to help a sister in need.
I still get emotional as I re-read a series of WhatsApp messages of that very tough day. As soon as word spread that all was not well in my household, one of her ministering sisters asked on WhatsApp two simple but poignant questions: “Are the kids sick, too? Would you like a meal or two?”
Unsurprisingly, my wife felt helpless. All she could say was, “Yes.”
This “Yes” I now know was an affirmation of her belief that, with ministering, help is never far away. In the end I realized that not only was my wife ill that weekend, but our three children as well because everyone had contracted a very bad strain of flu.
The help was generous, and my wife assured me that it was sufficient enough that I would not have to cut my business trip short to rush home.
I knew these women who were her ministering sisters. Their diligence often inspired me to do my own ministering service as they never missed an appointment with my wife.

Seeing the needs of immigrants in Milan, Italy, Relief Society sisters organized a service opportunity to provide them with clothing and household goods. Some sisters donated gently used items, while others organized and cleaned the donations. Each sister’s offering was important. The Relief Society sisters helped visitors feel the love of Jesus Christ as they came to the donation center. Monia, a local Relief Society sister, said, “From little things come great things. And we can bless the people inside and outside the Church. It’s the gospel in action.”

When my parents converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, my father had no stable income. Back then, as today, there was much poverty in the Philippines. Work was hard to find.

So he prayed and told God that he had a testimony of the law of tithing but needed to find employment so he could live it. He promised Heavenly Father that he would pay an honest tithe all his life.

Well, my father did get a job. He found work as a cleaner in the local Coca-Cola manufacturing plant. As he began to pay tithing, his life began to change.

We used to have to walk to church since we did not have enough money to pay for public transportation. That began to change. My dad worked hard in his humble job and began to slowly rise through the ranks, ultimately becoming a sales manager. We could afford transportation in addition to food. One true miracle is that all six of my parents’ children were able to go and finish college.

Regarding that particular miracle, even my father’s coworkers seemed surprised. “How can you send all your children to college?” they would ask. “You make the same amount of money as we do. It doesn’t make sense!”

My father would always smile and say, “I have been blessed because of living the gospel. I have been blessed because I pay tithing.”

Jim Turner, an artist from the Lismore Ward in the Gold Coast Australia Stake, has achieved a milestone in his artistic journey. His oil painting The 1988 Bicentennial Naval Review will soon be on permanent display at the Royal Australian Navy Heritage Centre, the Maritime Museum of the Royal Australian Navy in Sydney. This monumental work, measuring 12 feet (3.6 m) long by 5 feet (1.5 m) high, includes a life-size portrait of Vice Admiral M. W. Hudson, who served as the Chief of Naval Staff in 1988.
The Bicentennial Naval Review was a historic event held in 1988 to commemorate the 200th anniversary of the First Fleet’s arrival in Sydney. This grand occasion saw ships from Australia and around the world gather in Sydney Harbour in a spectacular display of maritime history and tradition. It showcased the nation’s heritage and its connection to the sea.
Born in New South Wales, Brother Turner felt inspired by this event, recognizing its importance to Australian history. He was determined to create a work of art that would capture not only the grandeur of the naval review but also the spirit of unity it evoked.
Completed on November 4, 1988, The 1988 Bicentennial Naval Review was publicly exhibited only once, during a week-long exhibition that opened on December 3, 1988, by Senator Bronwyn Bishop. For years afterward, the painting awaited a permanent home where it could be appreciated by the public.
In 2024, Brother Turner was inspired to find a suitable home for his work. Through persistence and prayer, he contacted the Royal Australian Navy Heritage Centre. Although the museum was undergoing renovations, the centre accepted the painting for display in its new facility, which reopened in February 2025.
The museum will include Jim’s painting among its exhibits documenting the history of the Royal Australian Navy, from the First Fleet to the present day. Brother Turner’s painting will enrich the museum’s collection and the public’s understanding of this pivotal moment in Australia’s maritime history.
Brother Turner’s journey with this painting is a testimony of faith, persistence, and divine guidance.
Brother Turner reflects on the role of divine guidance throughout his journey. “I felt prompted to find a suitable home for people to view my painting of the Bicentennial Naval Review,” he said. “I have a firm testimony that if we do all that we possibly can, the Lord will provide the way and the means for us to accomplish whatever He has asked us to do.”
For Brother Turner, this painting is more than a depiction of a national event; it is a manifestation of faith and perseverance. He likens this experience to life’s daily challenges: “Be it a major work, like a 12-foot-long painting, or just completing simple daily tasks, [life is] made easier through the guidance of the Spirit.”

They came by boat, they came by ferry, and youth from Kodiak Island even came by plane. That’s what you have to do for youth conference in the Soldotna Alaska Stake, located 150 miles south of Anchorage on the Kenai Peninsula. The stake takes in more than 10 cities and small communities, and the teens came from near and far to pull handcarts in the shadow of the Ring of Fire volcanoes. But this reenactment was unique. It was a pioneer trek Alaska-style.
Traveling three hours by ferry, two hours by car, and another hour and a half by bus to get to the trailhead, one Laurel from Cordova, Aubrey Finch, said: “I am so glad I went. It built me as a person to see what my ancestors, the pioneers, went through just for what they believed in.”
Like teens at most pioneer treks, these Alaskans pulled handcarts, cooked their own meals, and enjoyed devotionals. But this group faced its own challenges that gave this trek an Alaskan flavor—like keeping an eye out for bear warnings and dealing with nearly 24 hours of daily sunlight.
The first obstacle was finding a place for the trek. “We had no idea how hard it would be to find land that we would be allowed to cross,” said Marlene Meyer, the stake Young Women president. “In some ways it reminded us of the feeling the pioneers had when they were driven out of every place they tried to call home.”
For months the leaders scoured the state looking for a suitable site that could handle 150 people pulling handcarts and camping along the way. Because much of Alaska is covered in wetland, they knew they needed to find an abandoned road with dry campsites every 12 miles. Fourteen days before the event was scheduled to begin, the leaders were contacted about the possibility of passing through some land in a small area called Anchor Point. Miraculously, it had oil pad sites, areas covered in gravel and suitable for camping, positioned every 12 miles along an old road. With only days to spare, stake leaders got the permits and the trek went forward.
Before the trek began, youth and adults spent hundreds of hours building handcarts, welding wagon wheels, sewing clothing, preparing food, and planning. The youth, wanting to make the trek their own, put much of their own effort into the preparations.
Kaylene Forbes, a Laurel of the Soldotna Ward, said, “I did a lot of sewing to prepare for the trek. The skirts and the aprons weren’t very difficult, but the bonnet was hard. After I was finished, though, especially on the trek, I was glad that I did everything myself.”
Each handcart “family” was led by a young man and young woman, called a Pa and Ma, and were also accompanied by adult leaders. The Mas and Pas even arrived early for special training.
“We worked hard,” Brother Forbes, Soldotna’s Young Men president, said. “Hundreds and hundreds of hours, but it was worth 100 times the effort that went into it. It was better than we could have ever dreamed.”
Throughout the trek, efforts to bring to life 19th-century pioneers included a mock Mormon Battalion march and a women’s pull, but no one could plan for one disheartening element they had in common with the pioneers—the weather. One of the original handcart pioneers, John Southwell, who traveled in the Haven handcart company crossing Iowa in 1856, records that they experienced hail, rain, wind, and ankle-deep mud.
One hundred and fifty years later, when the Alaska participants reached the trailhead on the first day of their trek, rain gushed down. The long, muddy trail wandered up tall hills, and the handcart wheels sunk in deep sand.
On the third day, the group awoke to a terrible storm with winds blowing more than 50 miles per hour. Pegs pulled loose, tents collapsed, the rain pounded down, and dark clouds covered the entire sky. Fearing that the weather would stop the trek, the leaders knelt in prayer. President Randy Eberline of the stake presidency asked the Lord to calm the storm. Throughout the camp, trek families also knelt and prayed for relief from the weather. Suddenly, the clouds parted and a bowl of warm sunlight shone down. Kelly Maxwell, a priest from Sterling, described the answer to their combined prayers: “President Eberline prayed for there to be sunlight, and I was also hoping and praying that it would work. Minutes later we saw a break in the sky, and we started to see blue and then the sun just came out of the clouds.”
Kaylene described it this way: “The wind stopped, and you could see the clouds parting and the sun coming out. It was like seeing Moses parting the Red Sea, except this time God parted the clouds for us.”
Brother and Sister Matt and Jodi Clark arrived that evening to speak at a fireside. They reported that on the 100-mile drive from Anchorage it had been pouring rain. As they crested the last hill before reaching the camp, they saw the most incredible sight. Sunlight flooded the camp while the rest of the sky, as far as they could see in all directions, was full of dark clouds.
James Barrett, a priest from the Kenai Ward, said, “It was wonderful to feel the sun again, the warmth and the light that brought encouragement and hope. It was a miracle. It was as if the Lord had stretched out his hand and protected us from the harsh weather by surrounding our camp with sunlight.”
The next day included special devotionals, a memorial fireside, and a testimony meeting, solidifying the spirit of the experience. It started with a devotional in the wilderness for each handcart “family.” At the devotional the youth received a letter written by their parents. Some of the youth later said that during this quiet time they received their first witness of the truthfulness of the gospel. Cyril Zufelt, 17, of Soldotna said, “When I got my letter, I was touched. That was a huge turning point in my life. I’m never going to forget it.”
Then, after walking for several miles, the group was halted by the trail boss who instructed each person to pick up a rock. In a valley between two large hills, they held a special memorial service dedicated to all of the pioneers left behind on the trail, especially those of the Martin and Willie handcart companies, who had lost so many to the early winter weather and starvation. Each person placed their rock on a small memorial of the earlier pioneers. Sister Meyer remarked, “I couldn’t believe how hard it was to walk past that little memorial and think of the families that left loved ones behind. I don’t know how they had the strength to do it.”
As they packed up their tents, put away their bonnets and suspenders, and returned to inside plumbing, the youth took away more than blisters and soggy hiking shoes—they took with them an appreciation for the Saints who traveled 150 years ago and 3,600 miles away. Most of all, they took with them a stronger testimony of the gospel.
Lyssa DaVaney, a Laurel in the Homer Ward, said, “When I left for the trek, I knew that I would be coming back. The pioneers knew they would never go back to their homes again. The trek was such an awakening experience for me. I learned so much about the pioneers, Heavenly Father, and myself. I wouldn’t trade my experience for anything.”