Gospel Story Finder

I always looked forward to Primary activity day because it meant exciting activities, great games, and tasty treats. Sometimes the activities were serious and spiritual, and I liked those, too, because I learned so much. But of all the great activities I went to, I remember one more than any other.
At 10:00 on the dot that Saturday, I showed up at church, along with the rest of the Primary-age children in my ward. After an opening prayer, a song, and a few instructions, we split into groups. I followed my group into a classroom and was surprised to find a large piece of green-and-white-checked fabric and a piece of solid green fabric, with a layer of fluffy stuff in between. It was all stretched out and tacked to some boards. Nearby were yarn and big needles. “A quilt,” I thought. “Who would be tying a quilt right in the middle of our Primary activity?”
“We are all going to help tie this quilt for someone in the ward who isn’t feeling well,” one of our Primary leaders explained. “After it’s finished, we’ll give it to her.”
“What a great idea!” I thought. When I’m having a hard time, I enjoy wrapping up in a nice warm blanket. But I wondered how well it would turn out since I had never tied a quilt and was pretty sure the rest of the Primary hadn’t either.
Then the Primary president announced who would receive the quilt—my own lucky mom! I was even more excited to try my hardest so the quilt would look nice.
My mom had been very ill all month. In fact, Grandma had to stay with us for a while because Mom was so sick she couldn’t take care of us. She had to be released from her Primary calling, too. Even though Mom’s illness wasn’t easy for our family, something good was going to happen. I would have a baby brother!
With the help of our leaders, we set to work. Even though I wondered if we could really do it, we tied that quilt. Everyone made a stitch or two. Then we each wrote a message, signed our name, or drew a picture in a book that went along with the quilt. I knew what we were doing would mean a lot to Mom because she told me how much she loved and missed all the children in Primary. And the person who bought the fabric must have been inspired, because green is Mom’s favorite color.
Tying the quilt wasn’t hard, but keeping quiet about it sure was. A few weeks later, the secret was finally revealed. On a sunny Sunday morning during singing time, we all walked a block from the church and around the corner to my backyard. We sat on the lawn and waited while one of our leaders knocked on the door.
You can probably guess that when Mom stepped outside and saw all the children gathered, she cried. She cried even more when we sang some of our favorite Primary songs in our best voices. Then the Primary president presented the finished quilt and the book of messages.
“Your singing was beautiful,” Mom said through her tears. “This is one of the nicest things that has ever happened to me.” I knew she meant it. She smiled and cried some more and said that she was going to go inside, wrap up in the quilt, and read every message we had written.
Mom still has that quilt, and I know she always will. It has a few extra-long loops of yarn on the back where some of the stitches weren’t pulled all the way through. Mom says that makes it even more special. To this day, when someone in the family is sick or has a bad day, nothing makes us feel better than wrapping up in the memories and warmth of what we affectionately call the “Primary quilt.”

But overcoming their own problems with deafness was only the beginning. Virl and Tom realized the extensiveness of the deafness problem while serving missions for the Church in Canada. It was then that they became aware of the small amount of medical research being done, including research in the areas of psychological adjustment, speech therapy, and education.
“Tom and I decided that from that time forward we would do whatever we could to help others in the ‘silent world’ of the deaf,” said Virl.
They were instrumental in starting a program for the deaf in western Canada. This later led to a deaf mission in California.

Grace W., 15, of Alabama, USA, loves family history. So she was delighted when, on vacation, she was able to visit the Church’s Family History Library in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. Little did she know that her visit to the library would later become the subject of a report at school.

“At the end of the year, my English teacher gave us an assignment to do a creative report on a subject of our choosing,” Grace explains. Family history immediately popped into her head.

She remembered that her interest in family history began when ward leaders challenged each of the youth to bring a family name to the temple for baptisms for the dead. But Grace went beyond just finding names. “I think it’s really cool that you can learn where your ancestors are from, what they’ve done, things like that,” she says. “And then to be able to offer them the opportunity to receive baptism and confirmation is incredible!”

Grace was fascinated with old family photos, so she began by gathering some from a variety of sources—parents and grandparents, family history sites, and scrapbooks. She decided she would project family photos onto a screen as a video background during her oral report. The final report included:
Research that shows 60 percent of Americans are interested in family history.
A quote from President Russell M. Nelson: “People throughout the world, once little concerned with family history, now search for the roots of their ancestral heritage using technologies unavailable a century ago.”1
Her personal experience visiting the Family History Library, plus an invitation to visit it someday.
Information about FamilySearch.org and the resources and information available there, with an invitation to go online and discover something about your ancestry.

“I listed a lot of websites you could use, where all you have to do is type in your name, and it will help you get started,” she said. She talked about how family history helped her in her history class too. “By knowing where your ancestors lived, you can see how history affected them.”

The report went well. “A lot of my classmates thought it was cool that you could figure out who your ancestors were, what kinds of jobs they had, or who you can link to, like fifth cousins,” she says. Several classmates expressed interest in learning more, and so did her teacher.

“At first, I was afraid people would think that family history is complicated or boring,” Grace says. “But I found out we can help other people see that family history isn’t a mystery,” she says. “And it’s a way to let them know a little bit about the Church too.”

Elder Edward Dube was introduced to the gospel in 1981 by an employer in whose home he worked. The man gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon. He did not read it until 1983 but then was so impressed with Joseph Smith’s testimony of the visitation of Moroni that he responded to an invitation to attend a fast and testimony meeting at the meetinghouse in Kwekwe, Zimbabwe.
He felt uncomfortable at first, feeling that he was in a servant relationship to most of those in attendance.
“But as they bore their testimonies about the Book of Mormon, I felt some connection with these people,” he recalled, “and I was able to share my feelings about the Book of Mormon.”
He would later receive missionary lessons, be baptized, and eventually serve in the Zimbabwe Harare Mission.

When disappointments come into your life—and they will—you have an important decision to make. Do you wallow in self-pity or do you arise and shine forth? As a thirty-five-year-old single woman graduating from BYU, Amanda de Lange chose the latter. (The following is taken from Ann Brenoff and Amy Page Christiansen, “Amanda de Lange: Woman Who Rescued Orphans Shares a Final Message,” Huffington Post, 13 July 2012; huffingtonpost.com/2012/07/13/amanda-de-lange-starfish_n_1660170.html?utm_hp_ref=religion&ir=Religion.)

After graduation Amanda went to Taiwan to teach English, then on to Xi’an, China, where she continued teaching and started volunteering at the city orphanage. She wanted to do even more, so the orphanage decided to let her care for babies with special medical needs. Just four days later, with the legal papers signed, she went to the orphanage and picked out six babies and took them home. Her Starfish foster home had begun.

“She laughed at her own ambition,” recalled a friend. “A single lady taking care of six malnourished babies, some needing to be fed with a dropper, all on her own.”

In an article highlighting Amanda’s life, journalist Ann Brenoff described how Starfish blossomed:

Amanda knew she couldn’t stop at just six, so she hired some help, and from there [her ­foster home] just grew and grew. . . . At one point, Amanda operated her orphanage out of three large ­apartments—housing up to 50 babies, with 26 nannies and volunteers coming and going all the time.

In all, she cared for 168 foster kids with medical needs that required nearly 250 surgeries. Eighty-one of those children ended up being adopted into families all over the world.

Amanda took the sickest babies from Chinese orphanages and brought them back to life. She fed them, held them, nurtured them. She convinced the world’s top doctors and surgeons to come [heal] them, to restore them, to fix their damaged hearts and cleft palates. And then she saved them again by creating a new, temporary family for them—a small army of devoted volunteers who comforted the babies through their nightmares, soothed them when they [suffered], taught them how to love and be loved. She then helped her Starfish babies find ­[loving] families. She saved them, loved them and then sent them on their way—pure and simple [though] never easy. . . .

[One mother says she] will always remember what Amanda said to her on the day she came to Starfish to pick up her son. It was, “I know my place. I am to love them, nurture them and care for them. I am to then give them up so that they may experience the love of a family.”

Early this year Amanda was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer. She eventually ended up in hospice care in Nashville. Starfish families traveled “thousands of miles to see her and say their good-byes, bringing along many of the 81 adopted children who have passed through Starfish’s door—[many of whom] wouldn’t be alive if not for Amanda.”

Twenty-six days ago, on July 14, Amanda de Lange, a shining light, truly a standard for the nations, passed away at age fifty-one.

Five days before she died, in a letter to the Starfish community, she wrote:

To the babies of Starfish, I want you to know that I have given it my best effort, my all. My life has been to care for and love you. Wherever you go in your lives, I wish you the very best. May you always be drawn to those in need and may you never forget that at a very critical time in your life there was someone there at the door to welcome you into the house. Be the change you want to see in the world.

I feel like whenever I hear testimonies about paying tithing, they always include miraculous, earth-shattering experiences.
I’m grateful for these testimonies, but I’ve never had this kind of experience before.
But then again, I’ve never had the Spirit knock me on the head, either—it has always been more subtle.
I’ve always paid tithing. I’ve never really considered not paying it, originally because my parents expected it, then as I went to college because I felt inspired to. And as I got married and started having kids, I continued because I had faith in Jesus Christ and a firm testimony of the blessings that can come from paying a full tithe.
When I pay my tithing, things just kind of work out. We always have enough food. Things end up being a little cheaper than I thought they would be, or I’m able to find sales or coupons. Granted, I have to work for it—it takes effort and faith. We save and we are frugal and we budget. But when all is said and done, at the end of the day, I always know things will be OK because I’ve paid my tithing and done the best I could and put the rest in God’s hands.
As I was thinking back on my experiences and why I have such a strong testimony of tithing, I thought of something interesting. At least for me, the blessings of tithing are not like the manna from heaven. I don’t just get random checks of money in the mail or random meals from someone who was inspired to bring me something. It’s more like when Jesus fed the 5,000 (see Matthew 14:14–21). A young man offered all the food he had. The Savior gave thanks to God and then fed everyone, with only five loaves of bread and two fishes. And miraculously everyone was filled, and there was food to spare.
There have been some weeks when I have not been sure what I would eat because I needed to feed my family. But somehow there is always enough. Food doesn’t just appear. But I feel satisfied with a smaller portion and so does my husband. I don’t get extra cash, but I am able to stretch what we do have farther.
It’s amazing how Heavenly Father works with us and with what we need. Everyone is different. Everyone’s needs are different. And so our blessings are different. It’s amazing how aware of our needs He is, both physical and spiritual. I’ve been blessed by paying my tithing. I want you to know that.

Some years later I was called to serve in another bishopric. Again this love developed as we had opportunity to meet so often to direct the affairs of the ward. A little over a year later, a change was to be made in our stake presidency. The bishop and I were called in to be interviewed by the General Authority who was making the change. The first question the General Authority asked was, “How do you get along with your bishop? Is he a good leader?” Then I started to express in glowing terms my love and appreciation for this man and all he had done for the ward. Suddenly I realized the purpose of the interview. They could call him into the stake presidency, and we would lose our association. I immediately stopped my compliments on his great service, and after a pause, I said with a little smile on my face, “The only difficulty he has is that when he is under pressure, he goes home and beats his wife.” The General Authority leaned back in his chair and said, “Isn’t that peculiar? He was in here just a minute ago and said you have leadership capabilities but you too have a fault. You like to go out behind the barn on occasion and smoke a cigar.” The strategy failed: I was called into the new stake presidency.

Tyler Grant of Idaho Falls, Idaho, received the Heroism Award from the National Council of the Boy Scouts of America.
Tyler’s father was working on an engine when it backfired and lit his clothes on fire. Tyler grabbed a piece of carpet and rolled his father in it to extinguish the flames. After administering first aid, Tyler drove his father to the hospital where he was treated for second degree burns.
Tyler is a priest in the Iona Third Ward.

Sotso was a Navajo boy who lived in a hogan (house) with his father, who was the chief, his mother, and his brothers and sisters. His eyes were black and sparkling. Around his forehead, browned by the warm Arizona sun, Sotso wore a beautiful beaded band that told stories of the Navajo rain gods.
Sotso liked to play among the sagebrush and mesquite bushes near his home. He also had work to do. Part of the day he tended the sheep for his father.
Sotso liked his job. He loved the sheep as he loved all animals: the antelope, the white-tailed rabbit, the great golden eagle, the long tawny cougar, and Hatili, the big shepherd dog that helped to look after the sheep. He was their friend. He knew their names and their voices. From their voices he could tell many things—if they were happy or if they were sad.
Sotso loved all of the animals except Mai, the coyote. Mai was a bad one. Sometimes he came near the herd of sheep at night, hoping to find a lamb that had strayed from its mother. On nights when the big Arizona moon was bright, Sotso often heard Mai’s voice. His long howl carried over the empty land. It seemed to say to Sotso, “You cannot catch me. I am Mai, the coyote. I am too smart for a little boy like you.”
Sotso would say, “Mai, you bad one. You stay away from my sheep.”
Then Sotso would run to his father, the chief. He would tell his father that Mai was near.
“I am glad you tell me this, son,” the chief would say. “But do not fear that Mai will catch our lambs. Hatili is a good dog. He will not let the coyote bother them.”
This made Sotso feel better, but he still did not trust the coyote. When he was in his warm blankets at night, he would listen for the voice of Mai.
One bright moonlit night he heard it. But this time it was different. It was a loud, piercing yelp. Mai seemed to be in pain.
Stealing away from the hogan, Sotso hurried through the night. The desert sand sparkled and the giant saguaro cactus stood ghostly in the moonlight.
The sound came nearer. Sotso ran faster and faster until suddenly he saw Mai’s shadowy form. Sotso crept slowly, closer and closer. The coyote was struggling to loosen its foot, which was caught fast in the jaws of a trap.
Sotso stood up straight. “It serves you right, Mai, you bad one.”
But when the coyote whined softly, Sotso began to feel sorry for him. He didn’t like Mai, but he knew Mai loved to be free. Sotso crept closer. Mai tried to pull away, but when he saw the little boy meant no harm, he lay still.
Sotso stood with both feet on the spring of the trap. The jaws gradually loosened. Mai was able to move his foot, then he pulled free. Limping on three legs, he ran off through the moonlight.
It made Sotso feel good to see Mai free, but he was suddenly afraid. My father will be very angry, he thought. But he knew he would have to tell his father.
Back at the hogan his father and other braves were sitting outside in the warm night. Sotso felt all their eyes on him as he crept into the circle. Finally the chief spoke.
“What is it you have to tell me, son?”
“I have done a great wrong, Father,” said Sotso. “I found Mai caught in a trap. I set him free.”
There was silence and Sotso spoke again, “Mai was in great pain. He wanted so much to be free.”
The chief stood and moved to the side of his son. He put his strong arm around the boy’s shoulder.
“Mai is a wild animal,” he said softly. “Nothing can change him. We will always have to watch him with the sheep. But he was made to be free and happy. You were right, my son.”
Suddenly a long, floating howl came across the desert. This time it seemed to say to Sotso:
“Thank you, little Navajo boy …”

As for General Authorities, let me digress for one moment.

You know, I have been to four funerals since April. I have seen the wives of General Authorities go, and I have seen a great General Authority leave us and leave his wife alone. It would be very easy for someone to say, “Why me?” It is the same thing that Job could have said. But I want to let you know that within two or three days after Elder Cullimore lost his wife, when I climbed on an airplane with Elder Ashton to go up to Ricks, there sitting in the first row, first seat, was Elder Cullimore going to his assignment. There is a message there for a young man or a young woman. It may be ten years, it may be twenty, it may be thirty, but the time will come when that lesson must be learned either by you or by your wife. None of us wants to face it, but we have leaders who show us how.

Some time ago while visiting Australia, I traveled to a beautiful horseshoe bay renowned for its surfing. As I walked along the beach, I was enthralled by the magnificence of the large crashing waves breaking just outside the bay and the smaller waves rolling in closer to shore.
As I continued my stroll, I encountered a group of American surfers. They were obviously upset about something, talking loudly and gesturing toward the sea. When I asked them what was wrong, they pointed to just outside the bay where the big waves were breaking.
“Look out there,” one of them angrily told me. “Can you see the barrier?” Looking more closely now, I could indeed see a barrier stretching across the entire mouth of the bay, right where the large, enticing waves were breaking. The barrier appeared to be made of a heavy mesh and was supported by floats on top of the water. According to the surfers, it dropped all the way down to the ocean floor.
The American surfer continued, “We are here on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to surf these big waves. We can surf the smaller ones breaking within the bay itself, but the barrier makes it impossible for us to surf the big ones. We have no idea why the barrier is there. All we know is that it has totally spoiled our trip.”
As the American surfers became more animated, my attention was drawn to another nearby surfer—an older man and obviously a local. He seemed to be growing impatient as he listened to the ever-increasing complaints about the barrier.
Finally he rose and walked over to the group. Without saying anything, he pulled a pair of binoculars from his backpack and handed them to one of the surfers, pointing out toward the barrier. Each of the surfers looked through the binoculars. When my turn came, with the help of magnification, I could see something that I had not been able to see before: dorsal fins—large sharks feeding near the reef on the other side of the barrier.
The group quickly became subdued. The old surfer retrieved his binoculars and turned to walk away. As he did, he said words I will never forget: “Don’t be too critical of the barrier,” he said. “It’s the only thing that’s keeping you from being devoured.”
As we stood on that beautiful beach, our perspective had suddenly changed. A barrier that had seemed rigid and restrictive—that seemed to curtail the fun and excitement of riding the really big waves—had become something very different. With our new understanding of the danger that lurked just below the surface, the barrier now offered protection, safety, and peace.

I wasn’t the most popular person in the marching band. I had some friends, of course, but I didn’t hang with the really “cool” people. They were the ones who sat in the back of the bus on trips and held their own raucous celebrations.
As I settled onto a green vinyl seat on the “band bus,” the cool breeze of an Alabama autumn slipped in a window and brushed my cheek. We were headed for the stadium, and like usual, the drum section members were in the back of the bus with their rowdy friends. Lulled by the rhythm of the ride, I shut my eyes and reflected on my social status and how isolated I felt being one of the few Mormons at school.
A teeth-jarring jolt startled me. The bus was off the road, careening wildly along the gravel shoulder. I gripped the seat ahead to steady myself. The bus was out of control, and each tilt and sway threatened to fling us into a crushing roll.
We lurched toward the ditch that lay beyond my window, balancing on two tires. The afternoon sun flared into brilliant white, filling my mind with a microsecond vision of my family. I clenched my fists and braced myself for the impact.
The bus tipped, voices screamed, and I sobbed, “Heavenly Father, please!” I was so afraid to die. Immediately my fear was replaced by comforting waves of peace.
There was a thud as the bus righted itself, and gravel sprayed as the bus jolted to a halt. We were on the slope of a ditch, only a few feet short of smashing into the framework of a bridge. I wiped my tears, astonished I was still alive. I was aware of people shouting and sobbing while scrambling for the exit. When I was able to climb out, I collapsed with relief on a grassy knoll, gentle peace still warming my heart.
At that moment I realized I was not only okay physically, but spiritually as well. I thought of a scripture we had discussed in seminary: “And if they die they shall die unto me, and if they live they shall live unto me. … And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them” (D&C 42:44, 46).
I marveled at the calm that had replaced my terror. I really thought I was going to die, yet in the last moment I wasn’t afraid. Popularity pales in the face of death, as do many other things. Although I may not be perfect, it’s nice to be on the right track.

Annet Nankumba of Upperhill Ward in Nairobi, Kenya, first learned about BYU–Pathway from her Mission President in Cote d’Ivoire. Due to her low grades in high school, Annet was very nervous about pursuing a university education. A few months after returning from her mission, she decided to enroll in PathwayConnect and began her journey towards a bachelor’s degree. This will make her the first university graduate in her family. “PathwayConnect has been a great blessing for me. One of my first courses taught me about having a growth mindset. Unlike before, I now look at failure as an opportunity to grow,” she said.
Annet further explained, “Someone with a fixed mindset fears failure, gives up so quickly when things get tough, and sees themselves as not smart. To stay focused on my education path, I have to be positive and trust in my Heavenly Father who will help me navigate the challenges”. Annet says she has also learned better financial management, which is helping her in her small business. “I have learned to prioritize payment of tithing, and I now feel my Saviour’s guidance more in my life. I am inspired by the weekly devotionals and institute of religion classes; all this is helping to increase my faith in the Saviour. I know that I can accomplish hard things!”

President David O. McKay was the ninth President of the Church. In his boyhood he desired to know, as Joseph Smith had known, of the reality of God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. One day while herding cattle in the foothills near his home, he sought a testimony through prayer. He said:
“I dismounted, threw my reins over my horse’s head, and there under a serviceberry bush I prayed that God would declare to me the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith” (quoted in New Era, Jan. 1972, p. 56).
He prayed fervently and sincerely with as much faith as he could find within him. When he finished his prayer, he waited for an answer. Nothing seemed to happen. Disappointed, he rode slowly on, saying to himself at the time, “No spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same ‘old boy’ that I was before I prayed” (p. 56).
A direct answer to this prayer was many years in coming. While serving a mission in Scotland, Elder McKay received a powerful spiritual manifestation. He later commented: “Never before had I experienced such an emotion. … It was a manifestation for which as a doubting youth I had secretly prayed most earnestly on hillside and in meadow. It was an assurance to me that sincere prayer is answered ‘sometime, somewhere’” (quoted in Francis M. Gibbons, David O. McKay [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1986], p. 50).

One day, I turned to my father for advice. Because of his training as a psychiatrist, I knew he wouldn’t be too critical of his son-in-law. His first words were like a bucket of cold water over me: “Martha, if you continue like this, you could drive your husband away.”

My jaw dropped. “What do you mean by that?” I asked. This wasn’t going at all as I had expected.

He held up his hand to ward off my indignation. “Just let me explain. Not long ago, I counseled a Latter-day Saint woman who had left a basically good marriage. She felt her husband wasn’t living all the Church standards. Years of nagging and pleading hadn’t changed him. She thought that if she left him, he would change his ways in order to win her back. She never suspected that he would find someone else who loved and respected him as he was. He remarried happily after their divorce, and she was devastated.”

Every day we make choices. Some aren’t a big deal—what color backpack we carry, for example. Other choices are a big deal—for instance, how we treat other people or whether we obey a commandment. Read the story below and pretend that you are the main character. What choices would you make?
Your mom says that you may invite two friends over after school tomorrow. First you call Julie, who lives a few miles away. She is in your Primary class as well as in your class at school. Her parents say yes! She will walk home with you; her parents will pick her up before supper.
Next you call Tasha, a nonmember who lives just a few houses away. She can come too. Before she hangs up the phone, though, she asks if anyone else is coming. When you tell her that Julie is also coming, Tasha says, “Yuk! Then I don’t want to come, after all.”
If you say, “Julie is my friend too. Why don’t you come and get to know her better?” go to A. If you say, “OK, I’ll tell Julie that something came up with my mom and that I can’t have anybody over,” go to F.
A. Tasha says, “Well, I guess I’ll still come, but don’t expect me to make friends with Julie.” After school, Tasha and Julie walk home with you. When Julie stoops to tie her shoelace, Tasha makes an ugly face at her behind her back.
If you say, “Julie, Tasha’s making faces at you. She didn’t want you to come,” go to J. If you say nothing but give Tasha a look of disappointment, go to E.
E. When you get to your house, punch and cookies are on the table. They turn out to be the favorite treats of both Tasha and Julie. As the afternoon goes on, you see that Tasha is actually being friendly with Julie. Tasha says, “Hey, Julie, I didn’t know you were such fun! You never say anything in school.”
If you suddenly feel jealous and try to discourage their growing friendship, go to B. If you try to help them become better friends, go to I.
I. You suggest that you all play on the tire swing. Tasha has the first turn swinging. As Julie climbs on the tire for her turn, a car full of teenagers zips by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, ‘cause it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.
H. You put the cigarette to your mouth. You don’t breathe it in deeply, but even so, it tastes yucky. You are still holding it when Tasha’s mom drives by. She stops the car, hollers at Tasha to get in, and says to you, “Don’t expect Tasha to be coming over anymore.”
You feel awful. When your eyes meet Julie’s, you see that she is very disappointed in you. You promise that you’ll never do anything like that again. Julie gives you a weak smile and says, “I believe you, but I don’t think that Tasha’s mom ever will.”
This is your last chance in this story to get on the “right-choice” track. Hurry to D!

One of the temples currently under construction is in Manaus, Brazil. Many years ago I read of a group of over a hundred members who left Manaus, located in the heart of the Amazon rain forest, to travel to what was then the closest temple, located in São Paulo, Brazil—nearly 2,500 miles (4,000 km) from Manaus. Those faithful Saints journeyed by boat for four days on the Amazon River and its tributaries. After completing this journey by water, they boarded buses for another three days of travel—over bumpy roads, with very little to eat, and with nowhere comfortable to sleep. After seven days and nights, they arrived at the temple in São Paulo, where ordinances eternal in nature were performed. Of course their return journey was just as difficult. However, they had received the ordinances and blessings of the temple, and although their purses were empty, they themselves were filled with the spirit of the temple and with gratitude for the blessings they had received.2 Now, many years later, our members in Manaus are rejoicing as they watch their own temple take shape on the banks of the Rio Negro. Temples bring joy to our faithful members wherever they are built.

One summer my family went on a vacation to southern China, where we rode all-terrain vehicles (ATVs) through a rainforest. When we arrived at the ATV camp, we were surprised when guides gave us full-body protective suits with massive helmets and goggles. It seemed a bit much for amateur riders on such a hot, humid day, but we wore the gear anyway.
After receiving riding instructions, we took off and eventually reached the summit of our journey. There we stopped to drink water and wipe the sweat from our faces.
Our guide then explained that going down would be trickier. We would need to stay close together and form an ATV train, with each ATV touching the vehicle in front and behind to stabilize the group.
As we began to descend, we called to one another to coordinate our descent. We slowly separated, however, leaving a gap between my vehicle and the ATV ridden by my dad and little sister, Vivi. Suddenly Vivi and my dad were thrown off their vehicle! My dad jumped on top of Vivi just in time to protect her from the ATV rolling over her.
We were incredibly relieved when we saw my dad and Vivi stand up and brush the dirt off their pants. Thanks to the protective gear they wore, my dad sustained only minor injuries. Vivi was terrified but uninjured. When we regrouped, the guide reminded us in a firm voice that we had to keep our ATVs connected if we didn’t want to tumble down the hill again.

Sister Patricia Parkinson was born with normal eyesight, but at age seven she began to go blind. At age nine, Pat began attending the Utah Schools for the Deaf and Blind in Ogden, Utah, some 90 miles (145 km) from her home, necessitating her boarding at the school—which included all of the homesickness that a nine-year-old could possibly experience.
By age 11, she had completely lost her eyesight. Pat returned home permanently at age 15 to attend her local high school. She went on to college and graduated with an undergraduate degree in communication disorders and psychology, and after a heroic struggle against doubting university admissions officials, she entered graduate school and completed a master’s degree in speech language pathology. Pat now works with 53 elementary school students and supervises four speech-language technicians in her school district. She owns her own home and her own automobile, which friends and family members drive when Pat needs transportation.
At age 10, Pat was scheduled to have yet another medical procedure to address her diminishing eyesight. Her parents had always told her exactly what was going to happen in terms of her medical care, but for some reason they didn’t tell her about this particular procedure. When her parents did tell her that the procedure had been scheduled, Pat, in the words of her mother, “was a mess.” Pat ran to the other room but came back later and said to her parents with some indignation, “Let me tell you what. I know it, God knows it, and you might as well know it too. I am going to be blind the rest of my life!”
Several years ago, Pat traveled to California to visit family members who were living there. While she was outside with her three-year-old nephew, he said to her, “Aunt Pat, why don’t you just ask Heavenly Father to give you new eyes? Because if you ask Heavenly Father, He will give you whatever you want. You just have to ask Him.”
Pat said she was taken aback by the question but responded, “Well, sometimes Heavenly Father doesn’t work like that. Sometimes He needs you to learn something, and so He doesn’t give you everything you want. Sometimes you have to wait. Heavenly Father and the Savior know best what is good for us and what we need. So They aren’t going to grant you everything you want in the moment you want it.”
I’ve known Pat for many years and recently told her that I admired the fact that she is always positive and happy. She responded, “Well, you have not been at home with me, have you? I have my moments. I’ve had rather severe bouts of depression, and I’ve cried a lot.” However, she added, “From the time I started losing my sight, it was strange, but I knew that Heavenly Father and the Savior were with my family and me. We handled it the best way we could, and in my opinion, we handled it the right way. I have ended up being a successful enough person, and generally I have been a happy person. I remember His hand being in everything. To those who ask me if I am angry because I am blind, I respond, ‘Who would I be angry with? Heavenly Father is in this with me; I am not alone. He is with me all the time.’”
In this case, Pat’s desire to regain her sight will not be granted in this life. But her motto, learned from her father, is “This too shall pass.”10

It was my privilege just over a month ago to dedicate the Gilbert Arizona Temple, a magnificent structure. The evening before the dedication, a cultural event was held at the nearby Discovery Park. Twelve thousand young people performed a 90-minute program. The dancing, the singing, and the musical performances were outstanding.
This area had been experiencing an especially dry season, and I believe many prayers had been sent heavenward over the preceding several weeks for much-needed rain. Unfortunately, it came just before the performance and stayed for the entire production! Despite the fact that the youth were soaked through with the rain and chilled from the cool temperature, we all felt the Spirit of the Lord. The theme of the program, “Live True to the Faith”—think about that: “Live True to the Faith”—was portrayed magnificently by smiling and enthusiastic young men and young women. Despite the cold and the rain, this was a faith-filled and inspiring experience these young people will ever treasure and will be relating to their children and grandchildren in the years to come.