Gospel Story Finder

In Nigeria, Relief Society sisters in the Ile-Ife district, as part of the activities marking the Relief Society anniversary, visited the local prison and distributed copies of the March issue. The Newcastle-Under-Lyme stake in England saw to it that every family in the stake had a copy and an invitation to attend a special sacrament service on Easter Sunday. One result was that a brother who had been less active since shortly after his baptism in the 1980s was touched and now enjoys the blessings of the gospel in his life again.

Jed, who is 13, hasn’t started seminary yet, but the example of his older brothers and sister has inspired him to read the Book of Mormon each morning before school with his mother. They read one chapter a day, and they have already read through the book three times. Because of this experience, Jed is sure he’ll have no trouble getting up for seminary when the time comes. As the youngest of this clan he has probably benefited the most from the 3F formula because it was well established by the time he came along. “I think all of these big brothers are great—I get to wear all of their old clothes!” he laughs. You don’t have to ask Jed twice if he thinks the 3F formula works. He has learned its power through example, and it’s not a lesson he’s likely to forget.

As summer was beginning, my family was getting ready for a short vacation to one of Utah’s beautiful canyons. For some reason, my 15-year-old brother and I got in a very heated argument. It began as a simple disagreement that led to name calling first, and almost slugging later. Both of us were thinking of the most insulting things we could say to each other. It was an emotional competition in which the winner was the one who didn’t start crying. Sadly enough, I was the winner.
The looks I received from my parents and siblings after the argument had ended were enough punishment for me. As I sat there struggling to enjoy my “victory,” my mother interrupted my celebration by telling me of her grave disappointment. With tears in her eyes, she told me how sad it made her to see us argue. My father responded by telling us he didn’t know if there would be a vacation now.
And while I was still fuming at my brother, I was also beginning to be extremely angry with my parents for their inability to understand my feelings. I was looking for someone to say I had done the right thing and that my brother had deserved what he had gotten. But no one would. No one, it seemed, was on my side.
Amidst all of the disappointed looks I was getting from my parents, my nine-year-old brother was sitting on the corner of the couch with his face hidden in the pillow. I suddenly stopped arguing with my parents when I heard the sound of him sobbing. I looked at him and asked what was wrong. He raised his head from the pillow, his eyes red and tears rolling down his cheeks. The room was silent except for his crying. Then he said something I will remember the rest of my life. He looked directly into my eyes and said, with a voice shaking from his sobs, “What would Jesus do?”
I sat there, helpless. I watched my younger brother continue to cry, and I began to feel the truthfulness of his words. Here I was, this supposedly mature young man being taught a lesson by someone half my age. I sat there in shock, feeling so angry with myself for what I had done and for the bad example I had set. As the words sank in, I immediately knew what to do.
I went downstairs to my brother’s room and tried desperately to apologize. Not surprisingly, he was not in the mood to accept. I left his room and went to mine. I fell on my bed and began to cry out of shame for what I had done. My younger brother’s words kept ringing in my head: “What would Jesus do?”
I realized how un-Christlike I had been. As I lay on my bed in tears, my brother came walking through the door ready to accept my apology. With our eyes red and puffy, we gave each other a hug. We continued to talk for a while, and I told him what our little brother had said. Just as it had touched me, it also touched him.
We walked up the stairs together where the rest of our family was waiting. We had obviously apologized, so my parents did not say very much about the incident. Instead we again began to prepare for our vacation.
I now realize the importance of that short question my brother asked, and will always be indebted to him and to whoever taught him that simple question: What would Jesus do?

Bill and Susan are devout Latter-day Saints who, after nine years of marriage, have four children, a car, lovely home, and job security. In fact, there is really only one thing missing from their marriage: happiness. Oh, they have their happy moments, but the stormy days outnumber the sunshiny ones. They finally decided to make an appointment with their bishop.

After they had discussed a wide range of problems, the bishop explained to Bill and Susan that we all tend to live our lives according to “scripts”—behavioral patterns we’ve picked up from our parents or from other significant people we’ve known. These patterns and habits may be at the root of some of our marital misunderstandings. “Regardless of whatever patterns our relationships may have fallen into, the scriptures can provide us with the life scripts we need to guide our daily actions. Bill and Susan, how often do you read the scriptures together?”

“We’ve tried a few times,” Sue replied, “but it seems like we have a hard time scheduling scripture study around work, other obligations, and television.”

Bishop Wilson then challenged Bill and Susan to read the scriptures each week with an eye toward searching them for solutions to their mutual problems. Bill mildly protested: “But, Bishop, I studied the scriptures on my mission, and I can’t recall many verses that specifically tell us how to resolve our family problems.”

The bishop smiled at Bill’s response. “Maybe the answers were there, Bill. Have you ever followed Nephi’s counsel to liken the scriptures unto ourselves? (See 1 Ne. 19:23.) I’d suggest that during the coming weeks you set aside fifteen or twenty minutes each day to systematically study the scriptures. You may want to start with specific topics found in a topical guide. Follow through with a discussion of what you read—and above all, liken the scriptures to your own family relationships. You might also write in your journals the insights you gain so you can readily refer to them later.”

Bill and Susan accepted the bishop’s challenge. Before they began, they had assumed that scriptural counsel—like the Beatitudes, for example—was to guide their actions and attitudes toward neighbors, colleagues at work, and friends. Suddenly the insight grew within them that any scripture counseling us how to treat our fellowmen is, by definition, inspired counsel on how married couples should treat each other. For example …

While Angie brushed her teeth, she stared in the mirror at the front teeth that seemed too big for her thin face, and she thought that they made her look like a monster. She shuddered and took a long time to rinse her toothbrush. Slowly she turned off the tap.
How she wished it was morning, with a sunny kitchen full of light and with breakfast waiting for her, instead of bedtime. Soft lamplight flooded her bedroom, but Angie thought only of the shadows in the corners and under her bed.
She whispered good night to Albert, her hamster, who lived in the cage on the table near the window in Angie’s room. Albert wasn’t afraid of the dark. She often heard him running on the wheel in his cage after the lights went out. She was glad he was there. Next to Mommy and Daddy, Angie loved Albert best, and knowing he was there made her feel less afraid. Angie’s friends teased her when she said that Albert was the bravest hamster in the whole world, but she didn’t care, because she knew that it was true.
Angie padded down the hallway to Mommy’s bedroom to say good night. Her father was away on business for a few days. Mommy smiled at her over her book and patted the bed. Angie crawled in beside her and settled into the crook of Mommy’s arm.
“May I sleep in here with you tonight?”
Mommy smiled. “It’s lonesome without Daddy, isn’t it? But I think you’d best sleep in your own room, or Albert might get lonely. Go brush your teeth, and I’ll come tuck you in.”
“I already did. But …” Suddenly Angie was crying. “I don’t want to sleep in my bed anymore. Not ever again! I want to sleep in here with you and Daddy, like when I was little.”
“What’s the matter, pumpkin?” Mommy’s strong arms held Angie tight. “Why don’t you want to sleep in your bed?”
“Because they’ll pull off my toes.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“The monsters!” Angie took a deep breath through the tears that streamed down her face. “The little monsters that live under my bed!” There, she’d finally admitted it out loud.
“But, Angie, there are no monsters under your bed. You’re a big girl now, and you know that.”
“I hear them at night,” whispered Angie. “And I dream that they wait under the bed, and when I get in it, they pinch and pull my toes. That’s why I jump onto my bed from the middle of my room.”
“Well, I think we’d better go to your room and take a look together,” said Mommy with a smile.
Angie hopped down and ran ahead to tell Albert that Mommy was coming to scare away the monsters. But when she got to her room, the cage door was open, and the cage was empty. “Mommy,” cried Angie, “Albert’s gone!”
“What?” Mommy picked up the small cage. “Angie, Albert needs our help. We have to find him before he hurts himself.”
Angie surprised herself by not crying. “That’s right. I have to help Albert,” she said stoutly.
While Mommy went to get a flashlight, Angie stood in the middle of her room and looked around. Albert wasn’t anywhere that she could see. She didn’t want to look anywhere she couldn’t see from the middle of the room, for fear that the monsters would get her. It was dark in the corner by the bookcase and behind the rocking chair and under the bed. They were good hiding places for Albert or monsters.
But Albert wouldn’t go where monsters were, Angie reasoned, so she looked in places she thought a hamster would like. The shoe bag that hung on her closet door had twelve pockets for shoes, and Angie searched each one carefully. Albert wasn’t there.
She looked in every room of her dollhouse and inside the pencil box on her bookcase. The flowered bedspread was smooth; it showed no small lump the size of a hamster. Albert wasn’t anywhere. My room is too neat, thought Angie. If this were my friend Susie’s room, there would be lots more places to look.
When Mommy came back with the flashlight, they searched together without talking. Angie thought it very brave of Mommy to shine her light into all the corners and behind the bookcase. She held her breath, expecting to see the monsters she just knew were hiding there, but there was only dust and a pencil Angie had lost.
Finally, Mommy said, “See if he’s under the bed, will you, dear?” She handed the flashlight to Angie.
Angie peeked under the bed. “Albert isn’t there,” she reported quickly.
“Angela Mallory, you barely looked,” said her mommy in surprise. “Now take this flashlight and look under that bed and really make sure that he’s not there. I’ll go look in the linen closet.”
Mommy left, and Angie made herself walk over to the bed again. She got down on her knees and laid the flashlight on the carpet. Slowly she put her head and shoulders under the bed and turned on the flashlight. Her heart thumped very loudly. She knew what she would see: wrinkled monster faces with mean eyes and nasty smiles, and long bumpy fingers waiting to pull her toes.
In the moment it took her to think all these things, Angie had another thought: Albert! If I’m so scared, how must Albert feel? He’s so little! She just had to find Albert before the monsters hurt him.
Trembling, she moved the flashlight beam back and forth under the bed. She saw eyes. “Monsters,” she gulped.
She forced herself to shine the light straight at the bright yellow eyes that stared at her. Angie held her breath as the flashlight caught and held the tiny figure in its glare.
It was Albert, and he was all alone!
“Mommy, Mommy, come here!” she called.
Quickly Angie got up and moved the bed away from the wall. She picked Albert up very carefully and smoothed his fur, talking to him quietly as she carried him back to his cage. Albert chittered and squeaked, scolding her the whole time. Gently she put him into the cage on a pile of wood shavings and shut the little door tight. This time he wouldn’t get out!
“Did you find him?” Mommy hurried back into Angie’s room.
“Albert was under my bed. And you know what? There weren’t any monsters there. I guess there never were, or Albert wouldn’t have hidden there.”
Angie sighed happily as Mommy gave her a hug and they watched Albert play on his wheel. “Good night, Albert,” Angie said softly. “Thank you for showing me that I really don’t have monsters under my bed.”

Everyone in the mission knew about Madame Dupont. Her husband, President Dupont, was the branch president of one of the smallest branches in France. He had labored faithfully for years to establish The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in his hometown. In all that time, however, his wife had opposed his membership in the Church. She didn’t like his “folly.” She wouldn’t listen to his testimony. And she wouldn’t allow missionaries in her house—not even in her courtyard!
The day I arrived in town as a brand-new senior companion, my missionary companion, Elder Granville, informed me that the branch president’s wife was just getting up and around after a short sickness.
“Great,” I said, “let’s take her some flowers to wish her well. Maybe it will help to fellowship her.”
“You don’t know Sister Dupont,” he said. (We called her sister anyway even though she wasn’t a member.) “She’ll probably just snarl.”
I couldn’t believe anyone would refuse flowers after an illness. I was wrong.
I held the bouquet while Elder Granville knocked timidly at the gate.
“She’ll never hear you if you don’t knock louder than that!” I said, and I rapped on the wood. A small, gray-haired woman in her 60s peered at us through the window. I knocked again, and the front door of the house opened. “Go away!” the lady said.
“But we have something to give you,” I replied.
“If it’s for my husband, just leave it at the gate,” she said.
“Let’s go,” Elder Granville whispered.
“We have something for you,” I said again, trying hard not to sound like I was yelling.
She opened the door and walked toward us from the house.
“Oh no!” Elder Granville whispered, pulling at my coat.
By now the short little woman was nearly up to us.
“What could you possibly have for me?” she said.
“Flowers,” I said, “Flowers to wish you—”
“Don’t like flowers,” she interrupted. “Never did.”
“But—”
“Don’t like flowers. Don’t like missionaries either. Now leave me alone.”
“But there must be something you like,” I said, almost in desperation.
“Yes,” she said, “I like fruit. Fresh fruit. Never get enough of that around here. Now thanks for bringing the flowers, but I really don’t want them.”
And she turned around and walked back to the house.
“Au revoir,” I shouted after her. “Ayez une bonne journée!” It wasn’t the most authentic French, but I did want her to have a good day.
“Brother, were you ever lucky,” Elder Granville sighed as we walked away. “When Elder Stokeley and I said hello to her one day, she slammed the gate in our face.”
I handed him the bouquet of flowers.
“Let’s go tracting,” I said.
The next day was preparation day, and we were shopping at the market near our apartment. It was then that I saw the basket of apples.
“Hey, Elder Granville,” I said, “I’ve got an idea.”
I picked up the basket and started toward the check-out stand. Visions of a month of apple crisp at every meal must have danced through Elder Granville’s mind.
“We can’t eat that many apples!” he said.
“They’re not for us. They’re for Sister Dupont.”
That left him speechless. For a moment.
“Elder Romney, you’re the craziest senior companion I’ve ever had!”
“I’m only your second companion since the Missionary Training Center.”
“Well, you’re still the craziest senior I’ve ever had.”
By now the clerk was wondering what two Americans were doing arguing in English about a bushel of fruit. I set it on the counter.
“Nous prendrons toute la corbeillée,” I said.
“You’ll take the entire basketful,” the clerk repeated (in French, of course). “Trés bien, monsieur.” Then, in an effort to be friendly, “Vous devez beaucoup aimer des pommes.” (“You surely must love apples.”)
“They’re not for us, they’re for a friend,” I said.
“For a friend.” The clerk tried hard not to be amazed. “Trés bien, monsieur.”
“The whole bushel!” Elder Granville moaned. “And we could have spent the grocery money for yogurt!” He picked up the rest of the groceries, and we headed for the door.
We did eat some of the apples. We even made some apple crisp and a pie. But most of the fruit went to Soeur (Sister) Dupont. We never delivered the apples in person. Each day we would leave one, with a note attached, in her mailbox. Sometimes the note would simply say, “Ayez une bonne journée.” Sometimes it would say, “Bon rétablissement!” (“Get well soon!”) One day I even tried to translate “An apple a day keeps the doctor away” into French. I’m sure “Une pomme tous les jours vous protégera contre les maladies” lost something in the translation, but once again the wish was sincere. By the end of the month, when the apples started to shrivel, we would cut paper into the shape of an apple, write a note on the paper, and leave that inside the mailbox instead.
All this time Elder Granville kept telling me I was crazy. And all this time we never heard a word from Sister Dupont. At church President Dupont was as cordial and friendly as usual, but he never said a word about the apples.
We were having a dish of soup for lunch one day when we heard a knock at the door. I stepped from the kitchen into the hallway to answer it. I couldn’t believe it when I opened the latch and neither could Elder Granville. There stood Sister Dupont, with our latest apple message in her hand.
“What’s the deal with all these apples?” she said. “Who do you think I am, Eve?”
“We just wanted to let you know we care,” I said.
“I thank you,” she managed. And she actually tried to smile. “But please, I’ve had enough apples for awhile.” She pulled her black shawl more tightly around her head. I was about to invite her inside when she turned to go.
“Oh, by the way,” she said when she reached the top of the stairway, “my husband says I should invite you for dinner on Sunday night.”
“Dinner?” Elder Granville gasped from somewhere behind me. “With Sister Dupont?” I thought he was going to faint. But as soon as the door closed, we both whooped for joy.
Sister Dupont was a marvelous cook. There’s no cuisine like French cuisine, and it’s even better when it’s homemade. That first Sunday evening we mostly ate well and offered compliments. We also watched hope glimmer in Brother Dupont’s eyes. It had been a long, long time since he’d had missionaries in his home. This was the first time since his baptism some 17 years before. We returned for dinner the following Sunday, and the next, and the next. Through bits and pieces of the conversation, we patched together the Duponts’ story.
Before he met the missionaries, Brother Dupont said, he had been like a wanderer in a drought-ravaged land. Then suddenly he stumbled into a lake of water. The gospel was rich and refreshing to him, and he could not drink his fill. In his exuberance to immerse himself in his new-found treasure, he could not understand why others did not want to savor the same message. This lack of communication spilled into his marriage. His wife didn’t understand what had changed her husband.
As we ate, she told us of the war years, when he was bedridden. She had managed to find food for both of them, even during shortages. She had nursed him daily. Even after the war, he had required her constant care for several years before he gained the strength to walk. Then he had spent more years training and rehabilitating himself while she supported the family. No sooner had he started working again than two Americans began talking religion with him. Then he joined their church—he was the only member in town, and they baptized him in the river—and more and more of his life belonged to his church, not to her. She felt deprived, then embarrassed, when parishioners laughed at her, the wife of the town fanatic.
President Dupont repeated over and over again that the Church was true, that he knew it was true, and that he would do whatever he could to share it with his wife. “But,” he said, “she just won’t listen.”
“Can’t you see?” I said one night after they had been sharp with each other. “What you’re really saying is that you love each other. Sister Dupont, all these years you’ve been asking your husband to spend more time with you. That’s important and it’s right. And President Dupont, all you want to do is share with your wife the thing that’s most precious to you. Right?”
He nodded yes. I turned to Sister Dupont.
“Can’t you see that he wants to share the gospel with you because he loves you?”
She didn’t say anything, but you could tell she was thinking. We excused ourselves quietly and went home.
Elder Granville’s prayer that night was straightforward and concerned.
“Please, Heavenly Father, help the Duponts to understand each other. They’re both good people.”
“Amen,” I said. And it sounded so good that I said it again in a whisper.
We had teaching appointments elsewhere for the next two weeks, and then we had to go to Bordeaux for district conference. Although we stopped to see President Dupont on branch business a couple of times, it was almost a month before we were asked back to the Duponts’ home. President Dupont delivered the invitation.
“You won’t believe it,” he said. “My wife’s been reading Church books! and she’s asking questions, good, honest questions. I try to answer them, but I get too pushy. She really wants to talk to you again.” If we hadn’t had another teaching appointment, we might have rushed over right then.
“C’est incroyable!” Sister Dupont said the next time we all sat in the kitchen. “It’s incredible. Or it’s stupid! A 14-year-old boy can’t talk to God. And the Bible. It’s complete. Why should we need any more scriptures than we already have? And the priesthood. My husband’s never been to divinity school. Why should he be able to hold the priesthood?”
Good questions, all right. How could we handle this? I could imagine Elder Granville thinking this was more like the Sister Dupont of old. Maybe the niceness had been too good to last.
“Sister Dupont,” Elder Granville’s calm voice interrupted my thoughts, “we can answer all those questions for you. But we can’t answer them all at the same time. We have a series of discussions that will answer them one at a time. Would you be interested in listening to those discussions?”
She said yes.
How about that! I said to myself. There’s hope for this junior companion yet!
I wouldn’t exactly say that Sister Dupont became a golden investigator. But she did become our friend. She listened intently to the first discussion. She even joined us as her husband kneeled in prayer. And she invited us to dinner again the following Sunday. It was while we were finishing a serving of the thin mashed potatoes the French call purée that Elder Granville told Sister Dupont a story.
“Did you ever hear about the missionary who was eating dinner and asked his companion to pass the butter? The butter was right in front of him, but he couldn’t see it because it was so close.”
“What?”
“Simple. It’s like you and the gospel. All these years your husband has had it right here in front of you, but you couldn’t see it because it was so close. You keep asking where the butter is when it’s right in front of your plate.”
It may not have been the strongest analogy, but Elder Granville was trying. When we got home that night, he brought me a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Why don’t you sign this with me?” he said, turning to a dedication on the flyleaf. “It’s for Sister Dupont.”
I looked at what he’d written.
“Voici le beurre,” it said. “Here is the butter.”
During the next two months Sister Dupont read the book—at least, she read more than half of it. And she had two more discussions, and prayed, and was talking to her husband more and more. And he was seeming happier and happier all the time. That’s when my transfer letter came.
I was moving north to Brittany where I would finish my mission. Elder Granville would be getting his third senior missionary companion. The letter had been delayed by postal strikes. I would have to catch the first train in the morning.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave, Elder Granville,” I said. “We’ve been working so well here. The branch president’s happy and excited again, and the members are working with him. We’ve got some inactive members coming out to church and a couple of solid investigators. The Marcellas family is getting ready for baptism. I guess I’ll just have to leave it up to you.”
A knock at the door.
“President Dupont!” Elder Granville greeted the visitor. “Come in, come in.”
President Dupont looked at me.
“I heard about the transfer,” he said. “I know you’re leaving tomorrow. My wife wants you to come say good-bye.”
There was a lot of packing and farewelling to take care of, but I knew I had to visit his wife.
“Of course we’ll be by,” I said.
The living room was dark. The wallpaper, however, was a bright combination of browns, yellows, and tans. Sister Dupont was seated on the orange couch, a tray of cookies and hot chocolate before her.
“Hello, elders,” she said. “Have a seat. What’s this about Elder Romney leaving?”
“I’m afraid that’s right. Tomorrow morning.”
“That means there will be a new missionary here, too.”
“That’s right. Elder Taylor. He’s from New York.”
“I guess I’ll have to get to know him, too.”
I could see the smile on President Dupont’s face.
“I hope you will,” I said.
“Will you write to us?”
“Of course I’ll keep in touch,” I promised. “Trust me.”
“If you can’t trust the elders, who can you trust?” she said.
I thought I might cry.
I did keep in touch, especially five months later when I got home from my mission. It was hard, and President Dupont wrote to me more than I wrote to him. But we did exchange photos (I still have a nice picture of the Duponts with their grandchildren on vacation on the Spanish coast), and Christmas cards, and news of our families. Whatever I sent, even a postcard, I always got letters back, scrawled out in President Dupont’s longhand. He would let me know when he heard from one of the elders, especially from Elder Granville. He always included greetings from his wife, but I never received anything written personally by her. Other missionaries told me that she remained friendly and supported her husband, but she never joined the Church. Every once in a while I would write to her personally and bear my testimony to her through the mail.
I’ve been home for several years now, and this week I received an unusual letter from France. The address was strange, the handwriting unfamiliar. I opened it before I got to my desk.
“Dear Elder Romney” it began. “I’ve wanted to write to you many times over the years, but I always figured my husband kept us in contact with you. Now my husband is gone. I wanted to let you know so that you could tell the other missionaries. He loved them all so much. Let them know the Church members held a funeral for him.
“I remember much of what you both told me about life after death. Perhaps my husband is there waiting for me, as you said he would be. I never did understand all you tried to tell me, all that he wanted to share with me, but I know you both believed it was true. I’m living with my daughter and her family now. Please write to me if you will.”
You know I will, Sister Dupont. You know I will.

It was a beautiful, clear morning in San José Pinula, a small town near Guatemala City. “I can’t wait!” Joshua told his little sister. Today was his baptism day!
After the family arrived at church, Joshua and Papá dressed in white clothes. At first, Joshua felt a little nervous. But Papá held his hand as they walked down the steps into the font, and he didn’t feel so nervous. When Joshua came up out of the water, he had a big smile on his face.
Joshua and Papá changed into dry clothes. Then Papá and Joshua’s uncles and grandpa placed their hands on Joshua’s head. They confirmed him a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Joshua heard Papá say, “Receive the Holy Ghost.”
“I’m so happy!” he said as he gave Papá a big hug.
“Remember the promises you made today,” said Papá. “If you do, the Holy Ghost can always be with you. You’ll never really be alone.”

Perhaps Scott has learned there is always somebody watching. On the rink it may be a scout or a future coach. In life it could be anybody.
“When Scott played on the Southern Alberta Select Team,” says Mary, “the coach told the team they needed to drink coffee to get going for the games. Scott and another LDS player wouldn’t.”
Scott smiles. “The funny thing was all the other kids ordered coffee, but they ordered caffeine free.”

I recently went with priesthood leaders to visit the homes of four women in Honduras. These sisters and their families were in need of priesthood keys and authority, priesthood ordinances and covenants, and priesthood power and blessings.
We visited a dear sister who is married and has two beautiful children. She is faithful and active in the Church, and she is teaching her children to choose the right. Her husband supports her Church activity, but he is not a member. Their family is strong, but to enjoy greater strength, they need additional priesthood blessings. They need the father to receive the ordinances of baptism and the gift of the Holy Ghost and to have the priesthood conferred upon him. They need the priesthood power that can come through the endowment and sealing.
Our next visit was at the home of two single sisters, women of great faith. One sister has a son preparing for a mission. The other sister is receiving treatment for cancer. In times of discouragement and despair, they remember the Savior’s Atonement and are filled with faith and hope. They both need the additional blessings and power available through temple ordinances. We encouraged them to join the future missionary in their home in preparing to receive those ordinances.
Our last visit was at the home of a sister whose husband recently died in a tragic accident. A recent convert to the Church, she had not understood that she could receive her own endowment and be sealed to her husband. When we taught her that these blessings could be available to her and her deceased husband, she was filled with hope. Knowing that through temple ordinances and covenants her family can be sealed together, she has faith and determination to face the trials ahead.
This widow’s son is preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. His ordination will be a great blessing to her and her family. They will have a priesthood holder in their home.
When I met these faithful women in Honduras, I could see that they were striving to keep their families active in the gospel. They expressed gratitude for covenant-keeping ward members who tenderly watch over them and help support their temporal and spiritual needs. However, each of these sisters had needs that had not been fully met.
In each of the three homes we visited, a wise priesthood leader asked each sister if she had received a priesthood blessing. Each time the answer was no. Each sister asked for and received a priesthood blessing that day. Each wept as she expressed gratitude for the comfort, direction, encouragement, and inspiration that came from her Heavenly Father through a worthy priesthood holder.
These sisters inspired me. They showed reverence for God and His power and authority. I was also grateful for the priesthood leaders who visited these homes with me. When we left each home, we counseled together about how to help these families receive the ordinances they needed to progress on the covenant path and strengthen their homes.

One day, I had to travel by bus to another city to follow up with a client. Because my finances were tight, I hoped that my client would agree to pay me an advance.
On the way to catch the bus, I decided to go see some quorum members and encourage them to visit their families. Some had forgotten but committed to do so. Others committed to finish their visits that very week.
I was so excited by their commitments that I decided to visit and encourage other quorum members. Before I knew it, it was past noon. So, instead of leaving town, I decided to go to my office to review the client’s case.
To my surprise, when I arrived at my office, my client was standing outside with another person. I explained to my client that I was about to review his case and would have a report for him the next day. He said he had come to introduce me to a new client. After his friend and I had talked, we agreed on a fee for me to help him solve his legal matter. Then, suddenly, my client offered to pay me an advance.
For me, that was a miracle. Heavenly Father knew I was trying to be faithful to Him. He also knew my needs. He has blessed me in many ways over the years, but this time His blessing came financially. He fulfilled His word in the scriptures to those who serve Him: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).

“Did you sing that song when you were in Primary?” Jessica asked.
“No, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ hadn’t been written yet when I was in Primary. Several years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma heard the Primary children sing it in sacrament meeting. She felt the Spirit so strongly that she was sure Heavenly Father was speaking right to her. Grandma loved the words because they gave her comfort in knowing that her family could be together forever.”

I’ve never been crazy about my name, Antoinette. It sounds like some fragile French girl who couldn’t look at a spider or a fly without fainting. So I got everybody to call me Toni, which fits me a whole lot better than Antoinette.
I think I started playing basketball the day I climbed out of my stroller. My brothers thought it was kind of funny, because the ball was bigger than I was, but that didn’t stop me. I got so that I could really dribble and shoot well. Once our home teacher asked me what I was going to do when I grew up, and I said, “Play professional basketball.”
The summer before I went to sixth grade, we left our little town of Cotter Creek and moved to the city. It was a bit scary being in a big place, but we bought a house just two blocks west of the city park, and it had the biggest outside basketball court I’d ever seen.
The first day we moved in, I went to the park—and every day after that! One afternoon I was shooting free throws when a bunch of boys came and started playing a game on the next court over. I didn’t pay much attention until one of them said, “Maybe we can get that girl to play in Devin’s place.”
“A girl?”
“It’s just to make the teams even,” someone else said.
A moment later someone walked up behind me. “Hey, do you want to play?” I turned around. There was this boy, probably a year older than I was and about two inches taller. He had a friendly smile. “We’re short one player,” he explained.
“Sure, I’ll play with you.”
“I’m Tanner. Are you new around here?”
“We moved in a couple weeks ago. I’m Toni.”
“Do you know how to play?” one of the others asked when I went over to their court.
“I can dribble without falling down,” I muttered.
“Just don’t throw the ball away,” a blond boy growled back.
At first, nobody trusted me near the ball; then I got a break. Tanner was being double-teamed and was about to have the ball knocked out of his hands. I was standing a few feet from him in the open because no one figured they had to guard me. Tanner tossed me the ball. I shot a little jumper that swished through the net.
“Lucky shot!” the guys on the other team hooted.
The next time Tanner got the ball, I was under the basket in the open again. He tossed it to me, and I went up for another two points. Twice more Tanner fed the ball to me, and I hit the basket two more times.
After that, the other team had someone guard me. I stole the ball right out of the hands of one of their players and raced for our basket, spinning and going in for a smooth layup. Everybody else just stood and gawked at me.
We won the game, and I ended up being the high scorer on our team. The players on the other team complained that the only reason I had scored was that no one was guarding me. Tanner laughed and challenged them, “All right, which one of you wants to go one-on-one against Toni?” There were no takers.
After the game, we walked down the street to the supermarket, and some of the guys went in. Tanner and I stayed outside. Soon the others returned with soda pop for all of us. Everybody was really nice, and for the first time since leaving Cotter Creek, I felt things were going well for me.
Afterward we walked over to Tanner’s house and watched TV. We’d been there for only a few minutes, when someone asked Tanner where his mom was. He shrugged and said that she was gone and wouldn’t be back for an hour or so. I squirmed uneasily because my parents’ rule was that I wasn’t to go over to a friend’s home unless one of the parents was there. I should have left, but I didn’t. I told myself that it really didn’t matter because we weren’t doing anything wrong.
From then on, I spent a lot of time with Tanner and his friends. Many times after playing in the park, we’d stop at the supermarket for drinks. Usually I didn’t have any money, but Tanner just waved me away and laughed. “It’s no big deal, Toni. You watch the bikes and one of the guys will grab something for you.”
After getting our drinks, we’d bike to someone’s house and watch TV. Many times no parents were there, but since I had stayed that first time at Tanner’s place, it got easier to tell myself that everything was OK. We weren’t doing anything wrong, even though there were times when the guys talked kind of crude.
One Monday night in his home evening lesson about Alma in the court of King Noah, Dad explained how Alma stood up to the wicked priests, who had been his friends, and told them to spare the life of the prophet Abinadi. Dad challenged us to be like Alma, even when it wasn’t the popular thing to do.
“Why are the scripture stories always about boys?” I complained at the end of the lesson. “I’d like some scripture stories about girls.”
Dad smiled. “Toni, there are some wonderful stories about women in the scriptures. But who the scripture character is, is not the important thing. The important thing is the lesson we can learn from whomever the story is about. You don’t have to be a man to learn the same lesson that Alma learned.”
“I’m not at all like Alma,” I said. “I want a scripture story about girls doing real things. When am I ever going to be running around with a bunch of wicked priests, talking back to a crooked king?”
My brothers laughed and rolled their eyes.
A few days later, after my regular afternoon basketball game with the guys, we all headed for the supermarket.
That afternoon Tanner and I went into the store with the others. I didn’t have any money, but Tanner grabbed a couple of sodas for us. As he strolled down the aisle, he slipped them under his big T-shirt and down into the pockets of his baggy knee-length shorts. Then he followed me out of the store.
Suddenly I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I still wasn’t sure if I had actually seen what Tanner did, until the others came out of the store and he pulled the two sodas from his pockets and handed me one.
“You didn’t pay for those, Tanner,” I blurted out.
While the others gathered around, Tanner laughed, still holding the soda out to me. “These are two bonus cans, Toni. We give this store so much business that we deserve to pick up some free stuff once in a while.” The others laughed and nudged Tanner playfully. “Tyson and Brent picked up a couple of free drinks too.”
I gaped. “I can’t drink stolen pop.”
“You can’t?” Tanner asked, a smirk on his face. “What do you think you’ve been drinking all the other times we’ve come down here? Did you think someone else was paying for your drinks?”
“I just thought … Yes … I mean …”
All the guys laughed. Tanner popped the lid from the can and again held it out to me. “Go ahead, Toni, drink it. It won’t kill you. Besides, you didn’t take it—I did.”
“You do this all the time?” I asked, still having a hard time understanding.
“Sure—it’s easy.”
“But it’s still stealing,” I rasped.
“It didn’t bother you before.”
“I didn’t know before. I—I guess I’m not thirsty.”
Tanner shrugged, and held it up. “Anybody want a soda?” Three or four hands grabbed for it.
While the guys drank their sodas, I stood there wishing that I’d never left the basketball court. They were my friends. We had had good times together. But they were doing things I knew were wrong. I had been doing wrong. I had gone to their homes without their parents being there. I had been choosing the wrong, too, and making excuses for myself.
Suddenly I thought of Alma, and I realized that even though he was a man who lived two thousand years ago, he knew what it was like to stand up to friends and tell them he didn’t want to keep doing what was wrong. And I knew that it didn’t make any difference that he was a man and I was a girl. Just like Dad had said, the lesson to learn was the same.
“Let’s head over to my place,” Tanner said. “We’ll have the house to ourselves for a while. And I found a video hidden in the top of my brother’s closet that will be interesting to check out.”
All the guys started climbing onto their bikes, but I choked out, “I’m going home, Tanner.”
“You don’t want to come with us?”
“I’d better get home,” I said slowly. “Mom’s probably waiting for me.”
Tanner shrugged. “That’s cool. Maybe you can come over tomorrow. We’ll tell you if the video’s any good.”
I prayed silently for the courage to speak out like the prophet Alma, and not put the blame on Mom. Then I shook my head. “I won’t be coming again.”
“Do you think that you’re too good to hang around with us?” Tanner growled.
I swallowed hard. “I’m just trying to do what’s right.” I took my bike and started to walk away.
“You’ll be shooting baskets by yourself,” Tanner called after me. “If you’re too good to hang around with us, we don’t want you any more.”
I stopped, knowing that walking away meant having to make new friends. It probably meant being teased. But I had to do it, just as Alma had. A few minutes before, I had felt sick, not knowing for sure what I should do. But that sick feeling was gone now, and in its place was a warm, comfortable feeling. I climbed onto my bike and headed home to talk to Dad and Mom.

One time President and Sister Harold B. Lee were in our home. Sister Lee put a handful of pennies on a table before our young son. She had him slide the shiny ones to one side and said, “These are your tithing; these belong to the Lord. The others are yours to keep.” He thoughtfully looked from one pile to the other and then said, “Don’t you have any more dirty ones?” That was when the real teaching moment began!

Several years ago I needed to speak to the wife of one of the bishops in our stake, so I called their home. A young son answered the phone. I said, “Hello. Is your mother there?”
His reply: “Yes, she is. I’ll get her. Who is this?”
My response: “Tell her it’s President Nielsen.”
There was a short pause, and then, in a very animated voice, I heard, “Hey, Mom, President Hinckley’s on the phone!”
I can’t imagine what she must have been thinking. It had to be the longest walk to the phone she ever had. The thought did cross my mind: “Should I?” I didn’t, but we had quite a laugh. Now that I think about it, she must have been so disappointed just talking to me.

Frank Siedel (Si) Peterson of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, is a typical young Latter-day Saint.
He studies; goes to institute classes; attends his church meetings; does his home teaching; and goes to Education Days, Know Your Religion lectures, ball games, concerts, and movies. He is six-foot three-inches tall, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, slender, and unassuming. He is even the coach of the ward slow-pitch softball team. How much more typical can you get?
But although Si may be typical, no one would ever accuse him of being average. He is an acknowledged superstar in the difficult field of lifting spirits and touching hearts. His talent is people, and he does not hide his talent.
“Si definitely has an exceptional effect on people,” says Russ Brailey. “He’s also a most reliable home teaching companion. Mind you, I had to get accustomed to having his mother go with us.”
“Right. I know what Russ means,” states Glen Hudson, captain of the men’s slow-pitch softball team. “When Si first became our coach, it seemed strange to always have his mother there.”
Si is no mama’s boy; but somebody, usually his mother, Anita Begieneman, always accompanies him because he has been almost totally paralyzed since March 1, 1975, when he fell from a high bar. He can only see, hear, think, mouth words, and smile.
Prior to his accident, Si had been a fairly typical Latter-day Saint teenager. Almost 17, the oldest of six children, he loved all sports; tolerated school; played the piano; and teased his brothers, his sisters, and his mother. His one big goal was to go on a mission as soon as he turned 19.
In one instant Si went from full healthy activity to total paralysis. He lost all movement. He could not breathe, speak, or eat. He was on a respirator 24 hours a day.
Usually when people are suddenly handicapped they experience denial, anger, resentment, and even bitterness before they finally accept their condition. Si’s medical team was amazed because he did not experience anger, depression, or a sense of hopelessness and panic.
He did get pneumonia, however, and his mother called Si’s former bishop and good friend, Robert S. Patterson, to give Si a blessing. President Patterson said, “Your accident has a definite and important purpose. You are to become an instrument in Heavenly Father’s hand to help bring many people who do not presently believe in God to a knowledge of him. This is to be your mission. You agreed to it before you came to the earth, and if you fulfill it well, you will thank your Heavenly Father for it every day throughout eternity.”
Si’s mother also received a witness of the Lord’s love. Si remembers, “Mom asked me what I would do if I could never again walk, talk, play the piano, or participate in sports. It was something that I had thought about a lot. I said, ‘It’s okay, Mom, I did those things the best I could when I could do them, and now I’ll learn to do something else.’
“She told me that the day after my accident she had gone down to my room, sat on the bed, and cried, ‘Heavenly Father, why? Why did this happen to my son?’ In answer, thoughts flooded into her mind. She realized that it was the Holy Ghost, so she grabbed a pencil and paper off my desk and recorded what came to her: ‘This life is a training ground for godhood. How we meet the trials that come and how we let them affect our lives are very important. We must see them as instruments of growth. All things can be for our good if we but let them. This life is the time to prepare to live again with our Heavenly Father, to grow in spirit and character and strength to meet the challenges and tremendous responsibilities of the celestial kingdom. This time of Si’s life will be exciting and challenging as new experiences come to him. None of the talents he has developed will be lost. They are just temporarily set aside while he develops others.’”
As the months passed, Si learned that he did not have to live a passive life simply because he could not move. There was still much he could give. He even learned that one way of giving was to accept help from others with love and gratitude. And he has received from many, many people.
To mention a few: His mother visits his hospital room each day and spends many hours with him. Other family members also show their love and support. Doctors and nurses at the hospital provide constant care. The Primary children of his stake raised $2,000 to buy a hydraulic lift to raise his wheelchair into his van. The Edmonton Singles Ward produced a musical comedy, and his four talented stepsisters presented a musical program to raise funds for a personal computer.
Brother Bob Layton, the early-morning newsman of CHED radio, produced a two-part documentary on Si. The response was so overwhelming that the station had to repeat it many times. Eventually this soundtrack was combined with a series of slides to form an audiovisual package. Brother Layton has, on request, taken this to firesides, schools, and service clubs many times. The letters that have poured in to Si, many from school children, are evidence that he has truly been an instrument of bringing people to God. One girl wrote, “Your faith and your acceptance of your accident help me to believe too. I love you.”
Some gifts Si has received were not altogether welcome at first. One day in 1977 a young man named Duane Simpson walked into Si’s room, snapped off the TV set, and demanded, “What are you doing with your life, Si? Why are you wasting your time watching TV? There’s nothing wrong with your brain—Why aren’t you using it?”
Si was stunned. His mother was furious. But Duane continued, “Si, I’m here to help you any way I can.” He explained that he had been assigned to Si as a tutor.
Beginning then, Si’s life changed dramatically. “I guess I needed Duane to bawl me out like that. I wasn’t doing anything because I never really thought there was anything I could do. But he helped me to change my attitude.”
Since then Si has worked off all of his grade 11, and is now completing grade 12. His aim is university entrance and a degree in social work.
How does someone in his condition study? He listens to tapes and his tutor. The tutor then reads him the questions, he figures them out in his mind, then answers “orally.” His tutor reads his lips, writes down the answers, and sends them to the Alberta Correspondence School to be graded. It is a slow, tedious way to study, but Si quips, “I’m getting better marks than I ever did before.”
While Si has learned to receive graciously, he has also learned to give unselfishly. He has counseled with many depressed and troubled people who are struggling to face their own handicaps and difficulties, and all have gone away lifted.
His deep empathy for the feelings and problems of others has also helped him reach out and bring people into the Church or back into activity.
One of them, a nurse in the hospital where Si lives, remembers, “I first heard about the Church during my 3 A.M. discussions with Si. He gave definition to many basic feelings I’d had all my life. Then he asked me if I’d be willing to listen to the missionaries, and I did. I was baptized in August 1983.”
David McTavish is another of the many whose lives Si has touched. “Coming back from inactivity, at first I felt uncomfortable with Si. But the example of his acceptance of the Church and his faith, plus my many discussions with him, have helped me to handle the obstacles between me and the Church. He has also given me a freedom not to be afraid of the kind of person I am.”
If you were to stop by Si’s room unannounced, you would probably find him working on his computer or with his earphones on, listening to one of his many tapes: the standard works (he’s listened to them all at least four times each), conference talks, great books from the Library for the Visually Impaired, course tapes, or music ranging from the Tabernacle Choir to classics to popular.
Si’s independence was greatly increased by the TOSC-2 control unit, which the Alberta Rehabilitation Council installed for him in 1978. By touching the control lever with his lower lip, he can turn on or off everything that is hooked into this touch-operated system control unit. He can even call a nurse with it. Now he has a modified personal computer that can be merged with the TOSC-2. This allows him, for the first time in ten years, to write his own messages. “This opens up lots of things that have been closed to me,” he says. “I can use it to work on my education. Then I’ll write a book about my life. Also, after more training, maybe I’ll compose some music.”
Undoubtedly much of Si’s strength comes from the gospel. He has been an elder since November, 1977. And on June 22, 1982, he traveled over 300 miles to the Alberta Temple in Cardston to receive his endowments.
Si calmly accepts his paralysis, but it is not easy to live as he does. Aside from the obvious discomforts and limitations, he also endures the side effects of it all. For example, because he is constantly on the respirator, his blood gasses get out of balance, causing him severe hallucinations. He has had many, many near-fatal moments when his respirator has failed. He has suffered cardiac arrest, pneumonia again and again, kidney stones, stomach ulcers, and strokes. But his faith in his Heavenly Father is unshaken.
So is his sense of humor. There is usually a smile on Si’s face, and he loves a good practical joke. When his mother went to the hospital recently for her daily visit, she was in for a shock. Two orderlies were sitting grim faced near Si’s room, and his door was closed. She opened the door and went in.
Si’s room was darkened, and he was covered with a white sheet. Anita’s heart faltered. She walked over and pulled back the sheet. Si was laughing! Then the orderlies came in, and they were laughing too.
Si had struck again! No one is safe from his jokes, and no one would want to be, because they are as full of fun and laughter as he is himself.
Si is an inspiration to his whole family. His youngest sister, Barbie, reflects, “Sometimes I wish I could make him better, but then I think no, because he’s blessed so many people’s lives.”
Si’s father, Dr. Frank Peterson, concludes, “It’s too bad that he’s immobilized, but everything else about this has been positive. I’m proud of him.”
Si has a firm testimony, and he bears it frequently. His mom reads his lips and then gives voice to his feelings to the accompaniment of the rhythmic hum of his respirator.
“One of the main purposes of this earth life is to be tried, to prove ourselves worthy to return to our Heavenly Father, and so trials that come to us are an important part of our lives. Every one of us will be tried in one way or another. The important thing is how we accept our trials and grow from them. They can be stumbling blocks or stepping stones.
“I am grateful for my membership in the true and living Church, and I am grateful for the priesthood that I hold. I am grateful for my family who loves and supports me, and for the many others who help me so much. I know that my Heavenly Father lives and that he hears and answers my prayers. I am grateful for my Savior, Jesus Christ, and for his sacrifice for me. I know that my accident had a special purpose in my Heavenly Father’s plan for me.
“I feel fortunate that the trial I have been given is so apparent that I receive a lot of encouragement and help from many people. Your trials may be just as difficult as mine, but perhaps not as apparent, and so I pray that you will be able to accept them and have the strength to endure and grow from them.”
This thought is typical of Si Peterson. Trapped inside the prison of his own motionless body, with every possible excuse to turn his thoughts bitterly inward, his mind reaches out to others in prayer and service. Even lying flat on his back, he is a giant. If you’re ever in Edmonton, do yourself a favor and meet him. Si Peterson—a typical young Latter-day Saint and a one-of-a-kind human being.

When I opened my mission call, I was excited that I was going to the Ghana Accra Mission. I would be serving the Lord by teaching the gospel in English. I am from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, so my native language is French.
When I arrived in the mission field, I could greet people in English but not say much else. I knew that was not enough for me to fulfill my duty as a missionary.
I thought of the Prophet Joseph Smith, who translated the Book of Mormon “by the gift and power of God.”1 I also thought of the Apostle Paul’s teachings about “diversities of gifts,” including “divers kinds of tongues” and “the interpretation of tongues” (1 Corinthians 12:4, 10; see also Mormon 9:7, 24).
A motivational feeling came over me that made me feel that I could seek the gift of tongues and receive it. To receive that gift, I decided to set several daily goals:
Pray for the gift of tongues.
Diligently study the scriptures and gospel doctrine and principles.
Seek guidance from the Spirit.
Listen to general conference talks in English.
Study English grammar and key missionary vocabulary.
Always speak English.
Sing hymns in English.
I worked hard on my goals. The gift of tongues, however, did not come right away. But after a few months, while my companion and I were teaching one of our friends, I felt confident in the words I spoke. Our first meeting with our friend had been challenging. I hadn’t felt any confidence in my ability to speak English, but this day our friend acted surprised.
“Elder Lono, where are you from?” he asked me
“I am from DR Congo,” I replied.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes!” I replied.
I hadn’t realized it, but I had become fluent enough in English that our friend thought it was my native language. I am grateful that the Lord blessed me with the gift of tongues so that I could speak English well.
I know that God loves His children and will bless us with gifts of the Spirit as we seek them diligently with faith in Jesus Christ.

You know that feeling where you’re surrounded by people but still feel completely alone?
Since leaving my home country of Uganda and moving to Dubai for work, I’ve felt lonely almost constantly. Back home in my neighborhood, people greeted each other on the street. We knew each other. We supported each other. I had many friends and family who were of my faith.
But it’s not the same here. I live in a very different culture, in a big city and surrounded by people who work busy jobs. And even though I do attend my ward and have tried to get to know other young adults and ward members, our busy work schedules make it almost impossible to see each other for more than just the couple of hours we spend at church each week.
Dubai is big and glamorous, and I’m grateful to be here. But it can be so overwhelming, especially when you’re feeling lonely. People have so much here and seem to have their lives figured out. However, as I’m living among all this fancy stuff and these beautiful buildings, I sometimes wonder:
What am I doing with my life? Is this even the right place for me?
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained that “a sense of belonging is important to our physical, mental, and spiritual well-being.”1 I hadn’t realized just how essential that sense of belonging was until I didn’t feel it anymore—not at church and not anywhere, really.
How was I going to find it now, far from everyone I loved?
Over time, I started to recognize “the centrality of Jesus Christ to belonging.”2
As much as I still missed my friends and family, I began to see that I hadn’t been separated from everyone in my life when I’d moved—I still had a Savior and a loving Heavenly Father who always wanted to stay connected to me.
So I started doing what I could to connect with Them better every day. I began listening to Come, Follow Me study podcasts when I went running. I put in my headphones at work and listened to the scriptures while I was completing tasks.
Most importantly, I learned what an amazing gift it is to be able to pray directly to Heavenly Father. I speak to Him more frequently and more thoughtfully than I ever have before. When I feel lonely, I pray and feel His comfort. When I’m typing up an email and trying to stay patient with my coworkers, I pray and ask Him for help.
I love what President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) said about prayer: “To those … who are struggling with challenges and difficulties large and small, prayer is the provider of spiritual strength; it is the passport to peace. Prayer is the means by which we approach our Father in Heaven, who loves us. Speak to Him in prayer and then listen for the answer. Miracles are wrought through prayer.”3
By making time for Them in my life, especially through sincere prayer, I began to see that although I wasn’t surrounded by my people and my own culture, I could still be surrounded by the Spirit and feel God’s love.
Things are still hard, but I have hope for the future. And I’ve come to believe what Brother Milton Camargo, First Counselor in the Sunday School General Presidency, taught: “The Lord Jesus Christ lives today. He can be an active, daily presence in our lives. He is the solution to our problems, but we must lift our eyes and raise our sights to see Him.”4
I’m still lonely at times, but I know that I will always, always be able to pray to my Heavenly Father and access the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Standing or kneeling, alone or in a group, I can pray.
I can cry to Heavenly Father.
I can give thanks.
I can ask for guidance and protection.
And through my covenant connection, I know that I, a daughter of a loving Heavenly Father, will always belong to Him. Through His guidance, I can feel confident that I am in the right place, doing what He would have me do.

In April, the branch started a Young Women program. At first there was only one participant: me! Even when I didn’t go, the teacher would wait for me. That seemed strange, too. Why was she so patient? Why did she wait so long even when she wasn’t sure I’d show up?
About that time, the mission presidents changed and the Suzuki family came to Sapporo. There was a young lady in the family, Naomi, who was my age. We quickly became friends, since we were the only young women our age in the branch. She set a good example for me, and with her as a guide, I began to understand the patience of our teacher and the beauty of the gospel. Naomi’s example helped keep me going to church weekly and praying diligently. I was able to gain a small testimony and wanted from the bottom of my heart to be baptized.

See if your family has any connections to a place you are already visiting.
On a recent trip to New York City, I decided to see if I had any ancestors that had lived there. Using FamilySearch, I discovered that my fourth great-grandmother Rachel Laird immigrated from Scotland to America and saw the Statue of Liberty only two years after it was completed! Learning about Rachel helped me to feel more connected to my ancestors and made the trip I already had planned even more special.

By now the weather was hot, hot, sizzling hot! I understood what Papa meant about the Torrid Zone. “I call it the Horrid Zone,” I said, wiping the sweat from my face.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Papa told me. “We could get stranded in the Doldrums.”
“Doldrums?” I wondered how many more words Papa had in his head that I didn’t know.
“The trade winds blow from the north and the south toward the equator,” he explained, “but sometimes neither wind reaches the equator and the air is very still. It is known as the Doldrums. Sailors fear this area as much as any part of the ocean because there can be long periods of time with no wind at all. We could sit motionless for days in this unbearable heat on water as flat as a sheet of paper.
“On the other hand,” he went on, “a tropical storm could come up suddenly, and the winds and waves could dash the ship to bits.”
Papa sure had a way of making the hair stand up on the back of my neck! And his warning about the Doldrums turned out to be right.
The Brooklyn did get becalmed in the windless region! Not a breath of a breeze could be felt. The sea was as shiny as melted glass. The air seemed as if it was coming from a stove fired up to do canning. It was so hot that the pitch in the ship’s seams melted and oozed out. Seamen constructed an awning to protect us from the blazing sun.
Now we were praying for the wind to start instead of for a raging storm to die down. Finally, after several motionless days in blistering weather, a breeze came up to fill the sails and blew the Brooklyn south toward Cape Horn. Papa called that area “the most treacherous test of a sailing ship’s crew.”
I hated to think what might happen there.