Gospel Story Finder

To understand her influence, we need to look back to the refining, testing days of the pioneers, to her grandmothers.
Her paternal grandmother, Mary Goble, was thirteen years old when she came with her family to Utah from England. Her father drove a wagon which accompanied a pioneer handcart company.
Mary’s mother, sister, and brother all died on that terrible journey. Her feet were frozen, and later her toes were removed. Little Mary rode into the valley in the same wagon with the body of her mother.
Sister Hinckley’s maternal grandmother, Martha Elizabeth Evans, married George Paxman, the faithful son of a stake president. He knew carpentry, and they moved to Manti, Utah, where he worked on the temple there. They lived in a sod-roofed house and were happy companions sealed in the sacred covenants of the gospel.
Two months before their second child was born (Sister Hinckley’s mother), George Paxman was injured. He was setting in place the massive east doors of the temple. Perhaps one of the doors slipped a little and he strained to hold it in place.
Within the week he died an agonizing death as a result of internal injuries. Martha provided for her daughters by sewing for a living. She was a widow for sixty-two years, ever sweet, never losing faith. Her daughter’s daughter was to become the wife of an Apostle, a counselor to Presidents.
President Hinckley’s grandfather, Ira Nathanial Hinckley, lost his parents and was sent from Michigan to Springfield, Illinois, to live with his grandparents. As a teenager he walked to Nauvoo, Illinois, and met the Prophet Joseph Smith.
He traveled westward with the pioneers. During the U.S. Civil War he volunteered for service in the Union army guarding the transcontinental telegraph line. Later he was sent by Brigham Young to Cove Creek, Utah, where he built the fort that stands today.
On the trek west, Ira Hinckley stayed back for one season to plow the prairies and plant grain that he would not harvest. The harvest belonged to those who came afterward. The forebearers of Brother and Sister Hinckley planted fields of faith for those who followed them.
That spirit has come as a legacy to Brother Hinckley. He feels he does not own this legacy of faith but holds it in trust to protect and to increase for those who will come in the generations ahead. Worthy Saints would have it that way, earning blessings for their children and their children’s children. That “residual of faith,” as he calls it, is gathered from the influence of good people. It shows in both President and Sister Hinckley.
Brother Hinckley’s father, Bryant S. Hinckley, was one month old when Cove Fort was built. The family later moved to Fillmore, Utah, where Ira N. Hinckley was called to preside over the stake. Bryant S. Hinckley would follow in the footsteps of his father and preside over the Liberty Stake in Salt Lake City, then the largest stake in the Church with approximately fifteen thousand members. Gordon B. Hinckley would be the third generation to preside over a stake of Zion.
Bryant S. Hinckley received three gifts: a quick mind, a firm faith, and—something rare in those days—a good education.
He married and they had children. Then his wife died, leaving him with the little family to raise. At the time, he was president of Latter-day Saint Business College, and lovely Ada Bitner came to teach English and shorthand. She had gone to school in the east to learn a new type of shorthand and became the first in the area to teach the method. LeGrand Richards, a future Apostle, was one of her students. Another teacher at the school was young J. Reuben Clark, Jr., who would one day be counselor to Presidents.
Bryant and Ada were married, and the family increased. You do not say a “second” family or “another” family, for, as President Hinckley said, “We were all the same; it was one family.”
When Gordon was ordained a deacon and eligible to attend stake priesthood meeting, his father took the somewhat unwilling boy to his first meeting and, as a member of the stake presidency, went to the stand. Gordon stayed on the back row.
The congregation of men sang as the opening hymn “Praise to the Man.”
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah
Jesus anointed that prophet and seer. …
Something happened! “There welled up in me an overwhelming conviction!” President Hinckley said later. A spirit of confirmation flowed into his heart, and a spirit of testimony affirmed to that boy deacon that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He knew it! He knew it! He knew it as firmly as he knew that he lived! From that moment on he was armed with that “residual of faith.”
Later, when the faith of this bright university student was challenged by doubts (always a part of the education of the young members of the Church), the memory of that moment sustained him. Even today, more than sixty years later, he cannot tell of that experience without putting a finger under his glasses to prevent a tear from rolling down his cheek.
That is a lesson for the youth of the Church. If Brother Hinckley came from the university shaken a bit in faith, he reestablished it forever by responding to a call to serve a mission in England. He had plans to attend Columbia University, New York, for an advanced degree in journalism, for he had a talent with words. But that must wait.
It was during the Depression, and because of an unfavorable monetary exchange rate at that time, England was the most expensive mission in the world. He began his missionary work in Preston, where the early Apostles had opened the work. He served as assistant to Elder Joseph F. Merrill, a member of the Twelve and President of the European Missions. G. Homer Durham, who later was to be a President of the First Quorum of the Seventy, was one of Elder Hinckley’s companions.

I love the Friend magazine stories because I love to learn more about the gospel and I love reading about all the kinds of things children do. A month after I read an article by Elder Quentin L. Cook called “How Can I Be a Missionary Now?” (April 2010), I told my schoolteacher about the temple. She didn’t know what a temple was. The next day, I brought her a picture of it and told her it is a place where families can be sealed together forever. A couple of weeks later, I got to see Elder Cook at our stake conference. I like being a missionary!

One Sunday morning when I was only five years old, I was playing with a neighbor’s cat. Eventually the cat got tired of playing with me and ran into a nearby cornfield. I wasn’t tired of playing with the cat, however, so I followed him into the field.
The corn was very high, and when I couldn’t find the animal, I decided to go home. It didn’t take long to discover I didn’t know where I was, and I had no idea where home was. I was lost in the large cornfield.
As I wandered around, the corn seemed to get taller and taller until it reached the sky. I was disoriented and felt more and more frightened. I began to run, yelling for help, but the wind drowned out my cries. I got very hot and sweaty, and the corn plants scratched my skin. I didn’t know what to do.
As I was rushing through the cornfield, I remembered a lesson my Primary teacher had taught only a few weeks earlier. “If you’re ever frightened,” she had said, “or if you’re ever lost, get down on your knees and pray.”
Then I remembered my parents telling me the same thing as we knelt in daily family prayer. “Heavenly Father cares about you,” my mother and father had taught me. “He will always hear your prayers. He will take care of you.”
As soon as I remembered the words my parents and my Primary teacher had spoken, I dropped down on my knees. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I shared my thoughts and fears with the Lord.
After my prayer, I felt very peaceful. My parents and my Primary teacher had told me Heavenly Father would hear my prayers, so I knew help was on the way. I was tired from running around so much, so I decided to rest until someone came. I promptly lay down and fell asleep.
It wasn’t long before my mother realized I was no longer in our yard. She had seen me playing with the cat, so she guessed I had followed it somewhere. She began searching for me. A block from our home, she saw the cat near a large irrigation canal and feared the worst. She thought I had fallen in and drowned.
She ran home and sent my older sister to the nearby Church building, where my father and other priesthood holders were gathered for a meeting. Mother then fell to her knees and immediately began praying to Heavenly Father, asking Him to protect me. She promised that if I was found safe, she would do all she could to make sure I was raised in righteousness.
After pouring her heart out to the Lord, Mother stood up. As she did, she thought of the neighboring cornfield. She ran outside to begin searching there. Some of the men from the meetinghouse met her, and she told them she thought I might be lost somewhere inside the field of corn.
Some men searched along the irrigation canal while others began searching through the tall stalks of corn. One of them, Bud Phillips, found me quietly sleeping. He picked me up and carried me to Mother, who was weeping. I remember wondering why everyone was making such a fuss. After all, I had prayed and I knew everything would be fine.
My prayers and my mother’s were answered, and she always did all she could to see that I was raised in righteousness.

Illustrations by Scott Jarrard
We had just finished reading a novel in my high school English class, and my teacher decided to show a movie adaptation of it that I didn’t feel was appropriate. She sent us all home with permission slips for our parents to approve the material.
I struggled to decide what to do. If I missed this movie and we were given a quiz over it, I could lose a serious grade. But if I watched it, I would be compromising my standards.
The next day our teacher asked us all to turn in our permission slips. I handed her my blank slip and told her that I didn’t want to watch the movie because it had content that was against my standards.
My teacher didn’t seem very happy with my decision, but she sent me into the hallway and gave me several extra assignments to make up for the quiz.
As I sat in the hall working on the assignments, I thought to myself, “This isn’t fair. Why should I get punished for doing the right thing?”
The next day, as the class was ready to finish the movie, I went up to my teacher for the extra work. Surprisingly, she didn’t have any for me and simply told me to wait in the hall. I found out that after the previous class my friends had talked to my teacher about the extra homework that I was assigned and had said they didn’t think it was fair.
I felt grateful for a teacher who respected my standards and for friends who stood up for what I believed in.

Those years brought Dallin opportunities for great growth in Church service. He was called to be stake mission president for the Chicago Stake in 1961. His law practice had him working nights, and he wondered how he would be able to fulfill the responsibilities of the new calling as well, Sister Oaks recalls, but he took it on faith. As he committed himself to the calling, the way was opened many times for him to finish his legal work early, or to achieve more than he thought was possible in the time allotted.

Shannon, a young mother, did not expect that she would teach her children the power of prayer when they piled into their van to drive to their home just 40 minutes away. There was no storm when they left their grandmother’s home, but as they began to drive through the canyon, the light snow turned into a blizzard. The van began sliding on the surface of the road. Soon visibility was near zero. The two youngest children could sense the stress of the situation and began to cry. Shannon said to the older children, Heidi and Thomas, ages 8 and 6, “You need to pray. We need Heavenly Father’s help to get home safely. Pray that we will not get stuck and that we will not slide off the road.” Her hands shook as she steered the car, yet she could hear the whisper of little prayers repeatedly coming from the backseat: “Heavenly Father, please help us get home safely; please help us so we will not slide off the road.”
In time the prayers calmed the two little ones, and they stopped their crying just as they learned that a road closure prevented them from driving any farther. Cautiously, they turned around and found a motel for the night. Once in the motel, they knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for their safety. That night a mother taught her children the power of holding true to prayer.

I remember shortly after Alessandra and I got married, we had both just finished our university studies and moved back to Brazil to start our professional lives. It was difficult to find a job and we were both working in jobs that were below what we believed to be our potential. We could not even afford to pay rent, so we lived with my in-laws for a period of time, but we always paid an honest tithe.
We could see through some very small miracles throughout our lives how the Lord was opening the windows of heaven and rebuking the devourer in our lives. Over the years we were able to progress in our careers and afford rent, and later we were able to afford a mortgage. I remember one instance where the company that I was working for was laying off people and I was not laid off. I remember friends that were not members of the Church saying that I was lucky, but I knew that it was the Lord rebuking the devourer as mentioned in Malachi.
In other circumstances where I received a promotion at my work, I know that it was not only because of my qualifications, because I would look around and see that many of my colleagues had the same qualifications that I had. I know that it was the Lord opening the windows of heaven and blessing our lives.

Zoe took a bite of her cookie. “Yummm.”
“These are just like Grandma’s famous cookies,” Zoe’s older brother Zach said. “She made the best cookies ever!”
Dad’s parents had died before Zoe was born. Her older brothers and sisters and cousins talked about Grandma and Grandpa all the time.
“Your grandma was a great cook,” Dad said as he picked up another cookie. “I miss those dinners she and Grandpa had every Sunday. They always invited the whole family.”
What would it have been like to know Grandma and Grandpa? Zoe wondered.
Zoe listened to her family tell more stories about her grandparents. She loved hearing about them, but she felt a little left out too. She didn’t have any memories to share.
A few days later she was at her older cousin Lily’s house. On Lily’s bed was a cloth doll.
“She’s so pretty!” Zoe said. She softly touched the doll’s dress.
“Grandma gave her to me,” Lily said. “She always did nice things like that. I really miss her.”
“I miss her too,” Zoe said. Then she frowned. How could she miss someone she’d never met?
Over the next week Zoe kept thinking about her grandparents. Every time someone talked about them, she felt an empty place in her heart.
“I never even met Grandma and Grandpa,” Zoe told Dad one night. “Why am I so sad that they’re gone?”
Dad smiled. He let out a soft sigh. “Your grandparents loved their family more than anything.” His voice got kind of scratchy. “I know that didn’t change after they died. They love you very much. And they’re cheering for you as you grow up.”
Dad snapped his fingers. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe we should have a special family lesson to help you get to know your grandparents better.”
“That sounds nice,” Zoe said.
Dad smiled again. “You can learn all sorts of fun things, like how Grandma used to write silly songs for her grandchildren.”
Zoe wished she had a song written by her grandma.
The next night, the family gathered to share more favorite stories about Grandma and Grandpa. They even shared some of the silly songs Grandma wrote!
At the end of the lesson, Mom turned to Zoe. “I know you’ve been thinking a lot about your grandparents,” she said. “Someday you’ll get to meet them. Until then, Dad and I thought this might help you feel closer to them.” Dad handed Zoe a picture of Grandma and Grandpa.
Zoe felt happy as she looked at the picture of her grandparents. Someday she would finally get to meet them!

It’s awful to be the first one to know good news and not be able to tell it.
When I heard Papa telling Mama that we were going to move to New Mexico, I was so excited I wanted to talk to Caroline and Ed and everyone else about it. But talking was something I couldn’t do. No matter how hard I tried to make the words come out, my tongue did not work right and the sounds were garbled and mushy, not sharp and clear the way I was thinking them. Only my brother Ed could tell what I meant most of the time.
Because I couldn’t talk, I wasn’t allowed to go to school. Caroline was in the third grade already and Ed in first. I had a hard time filling in the long hours until they came home. One day when I was playing behind the sofa, dressing and undressing my doll, I overheard Papa and Mama talking. I really paid close attention when I heard Papa tell Mama that their prayers to have a place of their own had finally been answered. “Just think, hon,” Papa was saying, “160 acres of our own to raise anything we want. We’ll grow corn, cantaloupe, potatoes, beans, tomatoes, and even some watermelons for dear Dora. She loves them so. We’ll have cows for milk and pigs for pork, chickens—”
“Is there a school?” Mama asked anxiously. “I want the children to go to school.”
“Just down the road a ways—close enough to walk to, I’m sure.”
“What about church?”
“Don’t worry about church,” Papa laughed. “It was some LDS folk down there that wrote to President Smith and told him about the available land. There’s already a meetinghouse in Harmony, and even if there wasn’t, there’s enough people going from here to start a ward—over eighty.”
“That many?”
“Figure it out. Twelve families, each with at least five children. That’s the requirement. I guess they figure anyone with that many children won’t pick up and leave.”
“Is anyone we know going?”
“The Coldwells and the Lenstroms.”
“No better folks than that anywhere. It sure would be nice to have room for the little ones to run. Is there a house?”
“Has to be. Someone has been living there. I imagine it will need some fixing up if they lost it by default.”
“Could that happen to us?”
“Of course not. That only happens if you’re shiftless and lazy. All we have to do is make the land productive and live there. After seven years it’s ours, free and clear. Oh, it’ll take lots of work, but we’re young and strong. We’ve got the boys to help me, and you and the girls can have a garden and bottle food for the winter. I tell you, hon, it’s the chance of a lifetime.”
“It’ll be nearly a year before we can bring in a crop,” Mama reminded him. “How can we manage until then?”
“We’ll have some money from selling our things, and I can get some bricklaying jobs. Even homesteaders need chimneys and fireplaces.”
“The winter’s ahead and we can’t take much with us,” Mama warned.
“Yes, but that far south is bound to be warm even in the winter. It’ll be good not to be shoveling snow.”
No snow! I thought. I’ll miss lying down in it and leaving a snow angel shape by brushing my arms and legs up and down to make the wings. And I’ll miss the noisy chase of fox and geese games and the sleigh rides with bells jangling on the horses’ harnesses.
Still and all, to take the whole family and move to a different state where there would be room to grow watermelons seemed like such an exciting thing to do that I almost couldn’t breathe thinking about it. I couldn’t wait till Ed came home. What I couldn’t get him to understand, he’d find out from Mama and Papa, and I knew he’d take me with him to tell all our friends.
At church on Sunday everyone was talking about the call to go to New Mexico. Brother Golden took me on his lap as usual, and while I brushed and braided his long red beard, he talked to Mama and Papa about the best place to buy a good cover for the wagon. I remembered the first time that he’d picked me up several years before, and I’d reached up to feel his stiff, prickly beard.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Can’t you get rid of it?” I tried to say. He must have thought my mumble meant yes because he just laughed, patted my head, and said, “You’re an angel.”
I wasn’t much of an angel, but maybe I looked a little like one because I had a headful of yellow curls, blue eyes, and a smile that made a dimple hole in my cheek.
When I went to Sunday School class that day my teacher was giving out red leather Bibles to some of the children who had 100 percent attendance for a year. I wanted one of those Bibles so bad I could hardly stand it, but there was no way I could get one now. I’d be gone in less than a month.
After class I went up to the front of the room just to look at the one beautiful book that was left. As I reached up to touch it, the teacher turned around from cleaning the blackboard and looked at me.
“You’re moving away, aren’t you, Dora?” she said.
I nodded my head.
“I’ll miss you in my class. I can tell when I see you listening that you are very close to our Heavenly Father.”
I nodded. She was right. I was close to Him. I knew He understood me even when no one else did.
“Would you like to have that Bible to take with you?” she asked kindly.
I bobbed my head up and down so fast I could feel my curls bouncing. She handed me the book, and I hugged it to me.
I reached up and kissed her cheek and skipped from the room, so happy I wanted to sing.
“Thank You, oh, thank You,” I murmured, glancing heavenward.
Papa made me a little wooden box with a hinged lid for my birthday that October when I was seven. It was to hold my precious things to take with me, he said. I packed it and repacked it many times, trying to find the best way to get the most in; but I never could get it to hold everything I wanted to take.
Papa and Mama were busy getting the wagon ready to go, and my friend Eileen was watching me pack the box for the last time.
“Where do you think the best place is for the chickens?” Mama asked.
“Chickens?” Papa said. “We’re not taking any chickens.”
“Of course we are. Three or four of the best layers and Caroline’s rooster, so we can raise some chicks in the spring and maybe a couple of hens to eat along the way.”
Papa sighed. When Mama had that sound in her voice, he knew it was no use to argue.
“I guess we can put them in a crate and tie it to the side behind the washtubs. You’d better put chicken feed on your list.”
“I already did.”
“I think I’ve figured out how to load the stove so we can cook on it while we’re traveling,” Papa told her.
“That’ll come in handy. Will we have plenty of water?”
“Four barrels: two in front and two behind. That should be enough to get us through the driest places.”
I carefully placed the soft leather Bible in one end of my box. Pressed between its pages were beautiful red leaves I had gathered from the autumn trees. I’d tied a string round and round both ways so they wouldn’t fall out. I dropped the seeds in next, in the little crack that was left behind the book: two red beans and four watermelon seeds and then the long strand of tiny glass beads I had strung myself. Sister Johnson had given them to me in a slim bottle with a cork one day when Mama was visiting her. While they talked, I had picked up the beads one at a time with the thin needle and slipped them along the thread, choosing the colors to suit me as I went.
I tried to fold the doll quilt small enough to fit into the box, but it was no use. I handed it to Eileen instead and indicated it was to be hers.
“For keeps?” she asked, and I nodded my head.
She rubbed it against her cheek. I’d made it by sewing together scraps from the new baby clothes, and I knew I could stitch another after we’d moved.
“Will the doll fit?” she wanted to know, and I answered by placing Henrietta on the soft bed I’d made with her folded flannel nightie. Henrietta was a beautiful painted-eye doll with china head, hands, and feet, and a stuffed cloth body. Some girls had shut-eye dolls, but I wouldn’t have traded because I loved Henrietta.
“What about those?” Eileen asked, pointing to the rest of my treasures beside her on the step.
I shook my head and handed them to her one by one—an old hat and pair of shoes I used to play dress-up, some more doll clothes, a worn-out Mother Goose book. When I came to the bag of marbles, I dumped them out, selected five or six of my favorites, and pushed them into the folds of the doll dresses in the box. The rest I returned to the bag and gave to Eileen.
After she ran off home with her hands full, I noticed again the pain in my head. It had started two or three days before as a tender spot behind my right ear and now was a sore and throbbing lump. I went inside to talk to Heavenly Father and ask Him to make it better.
By morning I was burning up with fever and crying with pain. Mama took one look at the spot I pointed to and said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We’ll have to get you to a doctor fast!”
The doctor decided just as quickly that he should lance the boil, and before long he had drained it.
“There, doesn’t that feel better?” the doctor asked.
I tried to say it sure did, but he couldn’t understand my mumble.
“Can’t this child talk?” he asked Mama.
“Not too good,” she said.
He took a look in my mouth and said, “Why, she’s tongue-tied! This should have been taken care of a long time ago. It’s a very simple procedure.”
He explained to me that my tongue was fastened down on the bottom where it should not be. All he had to do was cut it loose a little, and then I’d be able to talk like everyone else. I couldn’t believe it.
For a few minutes life was wonderful. The pain was gone in my head and the doctor could help me talk. When we get to our home in New Mexico, I’ll be talking like everyone else, I dreamed. I can go to school with Ed and, best of all, no one will tease me.
I did not know yet that it would take lots of pain and effort before I could talk and years of hard work before we had a place of our own.
The doctor asked Mama when would be a good time for the operation, and she said, “You’d better do it now; we’re leaving tomorrow.”

Fishing is a necessary and pleasant pastime for many Samoans. Molimaufou, Letane, and Aioo carry their dugout canoe (paopao) from their house to the beach a half a mile away. Molimaufou has placed the family wash in the canoe and will do it by hand in a clear, stream-fed pool while the tide is out. While she is doing the washing, Aioo and Letane try their hand at fishing using homemade spears and goggles. Today the water is murky because of a storm out at sea, and they don’t find any fish or shellfish.

A homely story contains a warning. I like this story because it translates easily into different languages and cultures.

Two men formed a partnership. They built a small shed beside a busy road. They obtained a truck and drove it to a farmer’s field, where they purchased a truckload of melons for a dollar a melon. They drove the loaded truck to their shed by the road, where they sold their melons for a dollar a melon. They drove back to the farmer’s field and bought another truckload of melons for a dollar a melon. Transporting them to the roadside, they again sold them for a dollar a melon. As they drove back toward the farmer’s field to get another load, one partner said to the other, “We’re not making much money on this business, are we?” “No, we’re not,” his partner replied. “Do you think we need a bigger truck?”

We don’t need a bigger truckload of information, either. Like the two partners in my story, our biggest need is a clearer focus on how we should value and use what we already have.

Nature has taught me valuable lessons too. I’ve always loved being in the outdoors, and I love backpacking. One time, several years after I was married and had children, my husband and I and our four sons were on such a trip. We hiked two 12,000-foot (3600 m) mountain passes in one day. I remember thinking, How many more steps? Well, I can take twenty-five steps. I counted twenty-five steps, then repeated the process again and again.

Another time we backpacked in Glacier National Park. It was snowing, and the wind was blowing. I couldn’t go ten steps without stopping to rest. I don’t know when I’ve ever been so tired. Finally we were headed for a tunnel, and that was what gave me strength. I kept looking up at it and thinking about how warm it was going to be inside it.

Achieving any goal is a lot like backpacking. You get there by looking toward your destination and taking one step at a time. You have to dream and then work hard. Don’t be disappointed if you don’t achieve your goals right away. Often it takes a long time. Sometimes you can’t even anticipate what the end result may be—you can’t possibly dream all the things the Lord has in store for you. You just do what you have to do, and you do your best.

When I was a university student, I knew I wanted to take a specific career path. I had planned all my classes until graduation, and I had a business opportunity I was ready to accept. Everything was in place.
After counseling with Heavenly Father in prayer, however, I felt He was saying to me, “I need you to go in a different direction.” Soon after that, an opportunity to work for the Church appeared. It was completely unexpected, but I recognized it as a new direction He had prepared me to take.
I explained to my family that a new opportunity had opened as training and operations manager at the Pacific Missionary Training Center. This led to a position three years later as institute director with Seminaries and Institutes of Religion. My original career plan would have likely been more temporally prosperous, but we decided to see what would happen if we put our trust in the Lord.
That decision led to blessings the Lord seemed to have prepared for us. It has been amazing. We aren’t wealthy, but we have always had the things we need, and our children have been raised in a wonderful gospel environment.
I have never regretted my decision 23 years ago, though I have had to forsake some things and leave behind some people, places, possessions, and positions. But we have been happy to do that for Heavenly Father. Doing so has been a great blessing.

My first area in Zimbabwe was Chikanga Mutare. Eager to find the family of the missionary who had baptized me, I studied the area book with my companion. Many names matched his family name. We prayed, made our best decision on where to go, and ventured out.
At the first door we knocked we found my missionary’s family. Our joy was instant. We wept and hugged like family. While flipping through the family’s photo albums, I found pictures of my family at our baptism.
I returned home after my mission to discover that circumstances had not improved for my family. My father was still unemployed. Two cousins invited me to live with them in Kibera—the toughest area in Nairobi. There, I created a spot to call home.
Gangs ruled in Kibera, but I stayed clear of crime-ridden areas. I felt out of place, but my cousins helped protect me, making sure others knew I was religious and was to be respected.
Food in the slums amounted to water and a chocolate paste that formed something of a doughnut. I chose to eat at night. Every morning, I woke up hungry. In church, I did my best to smile and be happy so members would not know of my hunger.
During this time, I served as elders quorum president in the Langata Branch and attended school when possible. On Sunday afternoons, I walked with the branch president to visit members, aware that our white shirts made us easy targets for gangs. But we felt heaven as we served others, and my cousins watched over us as we walked the dusty streets.
Despite difficult times, says Brother Omondi, “with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.”
This was a difficult time, but with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.
A little later, I was granted an interview for a job. I competed for the position against a dozen others who were more qualified with degrees and certifications. But I had been on a mission, and I had faith and confidence the Lord would bless me. I said a prayer and then walked before a review panel.
At the end of my interview, I blurted out, “When do I start?” Two weeks later, I was one of two who were hired. I soon distinguished myself as a top salesman, which opened doors to advancement, including a call from a chief executive officer to join his large company. Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as the bishop of the Langata Ward.
“Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as a bishop.”
I look back on the Christmas of 2009 and subsequent struggles as a memorable lesson—a time when our struggles became our blessings and the Lord extended tender mercies to us in rich measure because of our faith.

Katy skipped along the sidewalk toward the big oak tree at the corner of her street. The old tree made Nana’s house easy to find.
As usual, Nana was sitting in her living room, quietly braiding and sewing strips of bright cloth. The polished wooden floors of Nana’s house were decorated with beautiful rugs that Nana made herself.
“Hello, honey,” Nana said as Katy came in. Soon they were talking about what Nana called the “old days.” They looked at black-and-white photos together. Katy especially liked seeing the clothes and hairstyles her relatives wore when they were younger.
“Things were very different then,” Nana said with a sigh. “You know, we didn’t have cars or TV or cell phones.”
Katy couldn’t even imagine having to walk everywhere. “What did you do for fun, Nana?” Katy asked.
“We loved to sing together. We would gather around the piano in the evening and sing our favorite songs. Sometimes we’d sing ourselves hoarse! It was such a fun time.”
Nana looked off into the yard like she could rewind the years and watch them over again.
Katy sat next to the coiled rug that spilled off of Nana’s lap. She traced the careful stitches with her fingers.
“I’ve been thinking,” Nana said slowly, “how would you like to make your very own braided rug?”
Katy jumped up and clapped her hands.
“I would love to, Nana! Can we start today?”
Nana chuckled. “Well, there’s something you need to do first. Go home and gather up old clothes that we can cut into strips.”
Her eyes twinkled as she leaned toward Katy, her voice quiet as if she were sharing a secret.
“That’s what makes the rug special. Because it’s made of clothes, the rug can tell the story of your life. Each braid is like a chapter in a book about you. Looking at the fabric of an old dress can help you remember the places you wore it and what you did when you had it on.”
Katy’s eyes widened. She pointed to the rug Nana was braiding.
“Do you remember all about the cloth in this rug?”
Nana smiled. “You bet I do! This red piece is from the dress I wore when you were born. I remember pressing my nose to the glass window in the nursery to get a closer look at you. You were still all pink and wrinkly.”
Katy and Nana laughed together as Nana continued to tell Katy stories from the rug. As soon as Katy got home that night, she and Mama set aside old clothes that Katy could use.
The next day, Katy took the cloth to Nana’s house. Nana showed Katy how to cut the fabric into long strips, braid them, and sew the braids together.
Every day after school, Katy went to work on the rug at Nana’s house.
Little by little, the rug grew. As the days went by, Katy learned many of Nana’s stories by heart. Some days she was the one who told lots of stories to Nana.
One day, after adding a blue section to the rug that used to be a favorite pair of jeans, Katy rubbed the palm of her hand against the colorful braids.
“Don’t you think that rug is about done?” Nana asked, looking up from her work.
“Not yet,” Katy said with a smile. She never wanted this time with Nana to end.

I remember a few years ago my wife was the ward pianist, and I was a counselor in the stake presidency. She would manage to sit our children near the piano and from there she would try to control them. One day, one of our sons was fighting with his younger sister. My wife would give them a stern look from the piano. At the end of the services, while we were in the car, my wife told my son that he had been irreverent during sacrament meeting, and that he had not paid attention to the talks. He said that he had paid attention, so my wife asked him who spoke. He mentioned the names of the speakers and explained what they had talked about.
Dear sisters and brothers, our children learn when they attend Church on Sundays. When they are little, they feel the Spirit in Primary through the classes and when they sing the Primary songs.
I testify that happiness in the family has a greater possibility of being achieved if we focus on the gospel of Jesus Christ. The study of the scriptures with Come Follow Me, attending Church to renew our covenants, and attending the temple, among other things, will help us to remain firm in the covenant path.

For many years I’ve known a girl who has become a very good friend of mine. She isn’t a member of the Church, but she respects it and what it stands for. We had never talked much about religion. I assumed that she believed what she wanted to believe and wouldn’t change. However, I had prayed for a long time that the opportunity to teach her would come.
My prayer was answered at a sleepover for my 16th birthday. When most of the other girls had fallen asleep, my friend and I moved to an adjacent room so we wouldn’t wake them, since we planned on staying up a little longer talking. Eventually our discussion turned to who we are, what we are doing here on earth, and where we are going after this life. My friend was curious to know what our religion says about these questions. I was a little apprehensive, so I started out slowly telling her a basic version of the plan of salvation.
As I talked, I started shaking. I couldn’t help it. I felt the Spirit so strongly that I paused often to catch my breath. She seemed to sense something different and asked me what was wrong. I told her that this plan made me feel so happy inside. I then bore my testimony to her, and we were silent. All I could think about was how it felt to truly know for myself the truthfulness of the gospel. I had never borne my testimony like that before, and I will never forget the experience.

Desi squinted at her book, trying to focus on the story. It was hard when her four-year-old sister, Libby, was playing on Desi’s bed.
“Mom!” Desi called. “Will you please make Libby get out of our room?”
“Is she bothering you that much?” Desi’s older sister, Claire, asked from the top bunk bed.
“Yes, she is bothering me,” Desi said.
Mom came in and knelt down next to Libby.
“Honey,” she said, “your sisters are trying to read, and it’s almost time for bed. Let’s go to your room, and I’ll read you a story.”
“But I want to sleep with my sisters,” Libby said.
“I know,” Mom said. “But you need to sleep in your room.”
Mom picked up Libby and carried her out of the room. Libby started crying. Desi frowned. She wasn’t trying to make Libby cry! Sometimes Libby acted like such a baby. Why couldn’t she be fun to play with, like Claire?
Libby had been asking to sleep in their room for days now, but they never let her. They didn’t let Libby do a lot with them. No wonder she was so sad, Desi realized.
“Claire,” Desi said, “I feel kind of bad for Libby.”
Claire leaned out over the bunk bed to look at her. “You’re the one who wanted her to leave.”
“I know,” said Desi. “But I think we should do something for her.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Desi put her head back on her pillow and tried to focus on her book.
That night Desi kept thinking about Libby. What could they do that was extra special? Suddenly she had it. They could have a sisters’ sleepover party for her!
The next morning Desi told Claire and Mom about her idea. They loved it, and Mom said they could have the party that night!
At lunchtime Claire wrote a short message on a piece of pink paper. She rolled it up and tied it with a purple ribbon. Desi slipped it onto Libby’s plate.
“What’s this?” Libby asked when she found it. She pulled off the ribbon and unrolled the paper. She handed it to Mom to read.
“Dear Libby,” Mom read, “you are invited to a party in our room tonight. Wear your pajamas and bring your doll. Love, Claire and Desi.”
Libby smiled big. “I’m going to a party!”
Desi was excited too.
After dinner Claire and Desi ran to their room. Soon Libby knocked on the door.
“Princess Libby!” Desi said, opening the door. “Please come in and sit on your royal throne.”
She led Libby to a chair decorated with colorful streamers.
“We now present the Princess Award to Libby Jackson,” Desi said. She handed Libby a sparkly seashell while Claire clapped and cheered.
“And now we shall play the Princess’s favorite game!” Desi said.
“Can I pick any game at all?” Libby asked.
“Yup!” Claire said.
Libby ran to her room and came back with her favorite board game. The three girls sat down to play together.
Normally Desi thought Libby’s games were for babies, but she was actually having fun. She even liked reading Libby’s favorite stories together.
After Mom turned off their light, Libby and Desi snuggled together in Desi’s bed. Desi was too happy to fall asleep right away. Making Libby smile and laugh was so much fun! She couldn’t wait to play with her sisters tomorrow. Both of them.

In the 1960s my father taught at the Church College of Hawaii in Laie, where I was born. My seven older sisters insisted my parents name me “Kimo,” a Hawaiian name. We lived near the Laie Hawaii Temple when it served much of the Church membership of the Asia Pacific Area, including Japan. At this time, groups of Japanese Saints began coming to Hawaii to receive the blessings of the temple.
One of these members was a sister from the beautiful island of Okinawa. The story of her journey to the Hawaii Temple is remarkable. Two decades earlier, she had been married in a traditional arranged Buddhist wedding. Just a few months later, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, thrusting the United States into a conflict with Japan. In the wake of battles such as Midway and Iwo Jima, the tides of war pushed the Japanese forces back to the shores of her island home, Okinawa, the last line of defense standing against the Allied forces before the heartlands of Japan.
For a harrowing three months in 1945, the Battle of Okinawa raged. A flotilla of 1,300 American warships encircled and bombarded the island. Military and civilian casualties were enormous. Today a solemn monument in Okinawa lists more than 240,000 known names of people who perished in the battle.
In a desperate attempt to escape the onslaught, this Okinawan woman, her husband, and their two small children sought refuge in a mountain cave. They endured unspeakable misery through the ensuing weeks and months.
One desperate night amidst the battle, with her family near starvation and her husband unconscious, she contemplated ending their suffering with a hand grenade, which the authorities had supplied to her and others for that purpose. However, as she prepared to do so, a profoundly spiritual experience unfolded that gave her a tangible sense of the reality of God and His love for her, which gave her the strength to carry on. In the following days, she revived her husband and fed her family with weeds, honey from a wild beehive, and creatures caught in a nearby stream. Remarkably, they endured six months in the cave until local villagers informed them that the battle had ended.
When the family returned home and began rebuilding their lives, this Japanese woman started searching for answers about God. She gradually kindled a belief in Jesus Christ and the need to be baptized. However, she was concerned about her loved ones who had died without a knowledge of Jesus Christ and baptism, including her mother, who died giving birth to her.
Imagine her joy when two sister missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to her house one day and taught her that people can learn about Jesus Christ in the spirit world. She was captivated by the teaching that her parents could choose to follow Jesus Christ after death and accept baptism performed on their behalf in holy places called temples. She and her family were converted to the Savior and baptized.
Her family worked hard and began to prosper, adding three more children. They were faithful and active in the Church. Then, unexpectedly, her husband suffered a stroke and died, compelling her to work long hours at multiple jobs for many years to provide for her five children.
Some people in her family and neighborhood criticized her. They blamed her troubles on her decision to join a Christian church. Undeterred by profound tragedy and harsh criticism, she held on to her faith in Jesus Christ, determined to press forward, trusting that God knew her and that brighter days were ahead.
A few years following her husband’s untimely death, the mission president of Japan felt inspired to encourage the Japanese members to work toward attending the temple. The mission president was an American veteran of the Battle of Okinawa, in which the Okinawan sister and her family had suffered so much. Nonetheless, the humble sister said of him: “He was then one of our hated enemies, but now he was here with the gospel of love and peace. This, to me, was a miracle.”
Upon hearing the mission president’s message, the widowed sister desired to be sealed to her family in the temple someday. However, it was impossible for her, due to financial constraints and language barriers.
Then several innovative solutions emerged. The cost could be reduced by half if members in Japan chartered an entire plane to fly to Hawaii in the offseason. Members also recorded and sold vinyl records entitled Japanese Saints Sing. Some members even sold homes. Others quit their jobs to make the trip.
The other challenge for members was that the temple presentation was not available in Japanese. Church leaders called a Japanese brother to travel to the Hawaiian temple to translate the endowment ceremony. He was the first Japanese convert after the war, having been taught and baptized by faithful American soldiers.
When the endowed Japanese members living in Hawaii first heard the translation, they wept. One member recorded: “We’ve been to the temple many, many times. We’ve heard the ceremonies in English. [But] we have never felt the spirit of … temple work as we feel it now [hearing it] in our own native tongue.”
Later that same year, 161 adults and children embarked from Tokyo to make their way to the Hawaii Temple. One Japanese brother reflected on the journey: “As I looked out of the airplane and saw Pearl Harbor, and remembered what our country had done to these people on December 7, 1941, I feared in my heart. Will they accept us? But to my surprise they showed greater love and kindness than I had ever seen in my life.”
Upon the Japanese Saints’ arrival, the Hawaiian members welcomed them with countless strands of flower leis while exchanging hugs and kisses on the cheeks, a custom foreign to Japanese culture. After spending 10 transformative days in Hawaii, the Japanese Saints bid their farewells to the melody of “Aloha Oe” sung by the Hawaiian Saints.
The second temple trip organized for Japanese members included the widowed Okinawan sister. She made the 10,000-mile (16,000-km) journey thanks to a generous gift from missionaries who had served in her branch and had eaten many meals at her table. While in the temple, she shed tears of joy as she acted as a proxy for her mother’s baptism and was sealed to her deceased husband.

Once I had a measuring tape that didn’t work. I decided to fix it. I began to remove the side cover plate to find what was wrong. In a few moments, I knew I was in trouble. Suddenly, the whole mechanism exploded in my hands. There were tape and spring flying in all directions. My efforts to put it all back together were frustrating and often painful. Irritated, I just about threw the whole thing away. Then I thought, “Someone designed this tape. If I can discover the principles that make it function, I can fix it.” With greater patience, I began to examine the mainspring and found that if coiled in a certain way, instead of resisting and complaining, it easily responded. Soon the spring was coiled, carefully placed in its housing, the tape joined, the cover replaced, and it worked perfectly.

So it is with you. When, through violation of God’s laws, you cease to function properly, force and compulsion will not restore you. You must search out the Designer’s plan. As you follow it, you will become more pliable. You can be “repaired” more easily, and you will function well again under His divine influence.