Gospel Story Finder

Matt scowled into the mirror. The freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks looked bigger than ever. In fact, his whole face seemed to be one big freckle. “Mom,” he asked, “why do I have so many freckles? You and Dad don’t have any.”
“I did when I was your age. So did my father. And his father before him.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen pictures of them. Your great-grandfather had so many freckles that people called him ‘Red’ when he was your age. His name was Matthew too.”
“Oh, great,” Matt muttered.
“He was a great man,” Mother chided. “My father used to tell me wonderful stories about him.”
But Matt didn’t want to hear that. He just wanted to get rid of about fifty thousand freckles.
“Your great-great-aunt Emily is coming tomorrow. She could tell you a lot more about him. He was her brother.”
“Can she tell me how to get rid of freckles?”
Mom ruffled his hair. “Your freckles won’t last forever.”
Matt grumbled his way through breakfast. When he learned he’d have to give up ball practice to come home to meet his aunt, he grumbled even louder.
“Your aunt wants to see you,” his mother said in the tone she used when she wasn’t happy with him. “Besides, she has something special for you.”
Matt mumbled an apology and slid from his chair. He wanted to rub lemon juice over his face. He’d read in a magazine that lemon juice faded freckles.
Thirty minutes later, he looked in the mirror in disgust. His freckles were still there. If anything, they were more noticeable than ever.
His mood didn’t improve any when he got to school.
“Hey, Matt, you look like you were swallowed by a freckle,” his friend Josh teased.
“Yeah,” Sam added. “A big freckle!”
“Lay off,” Matt said.
By the time school was over, Matt was tired of being teased. He didn’t really feel like meeting Aunt Emily or anyone else, either. But she was there waiting when he walked into the kitchen.
“You look just like my brother Matthew did when he was eleven,” Aunt Emily said.
In spite of himself, Matt was curious. “I do?”
Aunt Emily’s lined face crinkled into a smile. “He had the same stubborn chin, the same blue eyes, and the same freckles.”
Matt scowled. “Did he hate them too?”
Her smile deepened. “He sure did—at first.”
Intrigued, Matt sat down at the kitchen table. He said “thanks” when his mother placed four peanut butter cookies in front of him, but he was more interested in what Aunt Emily had to say. “He didn’t always hate them?”
She shook her head. “No, he didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because they helped him get the lead in the school play. He tried out for the part of Tom Sawyer and got it because of his freckles.”
“But I don’t want to be Tom Sawyer,” Matt said.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to be a professional ball player or president of a company or something.”
Aunt Emily shoved a package toward him. “Here.”
Eagerly Matt unwrapped the brown paper, then stared in disappointment at an old leather-bound book. “What’s this?”
“It’s your great-grandfather’s journal. He started keeping it when he was just about your age.”
Matt opened it. Pasted inside the front cover was an old-fashioned photograph of a young boy. Even the faded tones of the picture couldn’t hide the freckles scattered across his face. “This is my great-grandfather?” Matt asked.
Aunt Emily nodded. “Does he look familiar?”
Matt didn’t answer. His own face stared back at him.
That evening, he excused himself after dinner and went upstairs to his room. He started flipping through the journal. He stopped at an entry dated June 15, 1911: “Worked in the fields today. It was hot! Earned $1.50.”
Matt kept reading. His eyes drooped, but he couldn’t put the book down.
“Aunt Emily, do you have any more of my great-grandfather’s journals?” he asked the next morning.
“I sure do. I had a feeling that you might be interested in them.” She motioned to him to follow her to the bedroom, where she opened her suitcase. Inside were eight journals—seven brown and one black. She picked up the black one and handed it to Matt. “This one is very special,” she said.
Matt looked inside. The pages were blank. “It’s empty.”
She smiled. “I know. You get to fill them.”
He wanted to look through the other journals right away, but he had to hurry off to school. After gulping his juice, he folded a piece of toast and jammed it into a napkin and ran to catch the bus.
His fifth grade teacher assigned a report due the next day. “Choose someone you admire and tell us about him.”
The other kids started talking about whom they would choose. Josh chose Abraham Lincoln. Sam picked Thomas Edison. Mary chose Babe Didrikson Zaharias. Matt frowned. All the good names seemed to be taken. But by that evening, Matt knew whom he was going to give his report on.
As he stood before the class the following day, he rubbed his wet palms against his jeans and took a deep breath. “My great-grandfather was never president. He never invented anything. He never even finished school. But he was a great man. When he was twelve, his father died. So he dropped out of school to help support his family. He hoed beets for only a dollar-fifty a day. When he was nineteen, he went on a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
By the end of his report, Matt was flushed. “I’m proud that I look like my great-grandfather. I hope I can be the kind of man he was.”
The class applauded.
After school, Matt hurried to spend more time talking with Aunt Emily about his great-grandfather Matthew. He also wanted to write in his own journal about his class report. Before going to bed, he looked in the mirror. His customary scowl had been replaced by a smile as he studied his freckles. He decided he didn’t mind them so much, after all.

Many years ago in Cuzco, high in the Andes Mountains of Peru, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle and I held a sacrament meeting in a long, narrow room with a door that opened onto the street. It was night and it was very cold.

While Elder Tuttle spoke, a little boy, perhaps six years old, appeared in the doorway. He was naked except for a ragged shirt that went about to his knees.

On our left was a small table with a plate of bread for the sacrament. This ragged street orphan saw the bread and inched slowly along the wall toward it. He was almost to the table when a woman on the aisle saw him. With a stern toss of her head, she banished him out into the night. I groaned within myself.

Later the boy returned. He crept along the wall, glancing from the bread to me. He was near the point where the woman would see him again. I held out my arms, and he came running to me. I held him on my lap.

Then, as something symbolic, I set him in Elder Tuttle’s chair. After the closing prayer, much to my sorrow, he darted out into the night.

When I returned home, I told President Spencer W. Kimball about him. He was deeply moved and spoke of it in a conference talk. He told others of it and said to me more than once, “That experience has far greater meaning than you have yet come to know.”

I have never forgotten that little street orphan. Many times in South America I have looked for him in the faces of the people. When he comes back into my mind, others come with him.

Over the years, I have wondered what President Kimball meant when he reminded me of that street orphan in Cuzco and repeated, “That experience has far greater meaning than you have yet come to know.” One day he added, “You held a nation on your lap.”

Now in my 78th year, I understand what President Kimball was seeing; I know what he meant. That boy in Cuzco and the one in Japan and the other children about the world profoundly influence what I think and how I feel and what I pray for most earnestly. I constantly think of little children and their parents who struggle to raise them in ever more perilous times.

I was born on March 7, 1998, in Congo Town, near Monrovia. Growing up, I attended church regularly with my grandmother in another church. Unfortunately, when she died in 2009 from pressure (hypertension), my church attendance stopped because there was no one around to encourage me about going to church and how to gain salvation.
As I grew older, I became curious about spirituality—how to get salvation and one day go to heaven. That became my goal and wish because my grandmother always told me that heaven is way better than the great America that I wished to visit.
However, I did not attend church again. I later relocated to Brewerville with no involvement in church activities. A big tree had fallen from the family—there was no more support, and everyone had to fight for themselves. I started looking for opportunities to gain an education since my grandmother was no longer around.
My life took many turns, as it does for most people, and through all these experiences, I found myself at a crossroads—searching for something more meaningful.
Later, a young man moved into our community from Nigeria. I found out that he had recently completed his mission and relocated to my community. I enjoyed coming around him because of his strange accent and his stories about the development happening in Nigeria—the beautiful streets and cities.
One day, while we were arguing, one of my colleagues, Amos Bangura, made a statement: “Liberia is a hell, and if you are born and die in Liberia and go to hell, it is a double punishment. Then God is not fair because things are so tough in Liberia.”
The returned missionary, Brother James Kolue, quickly used that statement as an opportunity to teach us about Heavenly Father’s love for all His children—no matter their location, family background, or country. He taught us that God’s love extends beyond our imagination.
After his teaching, I quickly asked him: “Which church are you attending?”
He replied, “I attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Have you heard about this church before?”
I quickly said, “Yes, I sometimes see their missionaries passing by.”
He asked if I would like to learn from the missionaries, and I accepted the invitation. I started meeting with the missionaries. They were friendly and kind, and their message about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation felt different from anything I had ever heard before.
I spent several weeks learning more about their beliefs and reading the Book of Mormon. There was something about the teachings that resonated deeply with me. I remember the day I prayed for the first time to know if the Church was true, and I felt an overwhelming peace—something I had never felt before.
That was when I knew I had to take the next step.
However, life became tough, and I moved to Logan Town in search of opportunities. There, I met different missionaries and stopped them to explain that I had been learning with missionaries in Brewerville. They contacted the other missionaries and continued my teaching.
The missionaries introduced me to the bishop, who was then Bishop Paul Wrotto. He guided and helped me as I took this new step. Soon after, I was baptized. The moment I emerged from the water, I felt like a new person. My heart was full, my mind clearer, and I was ready to follow the path that Heavenly Father had set for me.
The gospel changed everything in my life, and I felt a strong desire to share it with others—just as the missionaries had shared it with me.
I felt prompted to serve a full-time mission and discussed this with Bishop Wrotto. The decision wasn’t easy. I had doubts about leaving behind the life I knew, especially the part-time job that I struggled to get. But my bishop said two things that remained in my heart:
God knows you personally. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
You should create time for God. God should not create time for you.
These words kept playing in my mind. I knew it was what I was supposed to do.
I began preparing for my mission, and soon I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission under President and Sister Young. I left my job to fully prepare, but then the unexpected happened: COVID-19.
The pandemic spread rapidly, buildings were shut down, churches were closed, and public gatherings were prohibited. The missionary training center (MTC) was closed, and I was stuck at home—no job, no mission, just frustration.
During this period, I began questioning my decision. But my bishop encouraged me to use the time as an opportunity to study the scriptures and follow the Come, Follow Me program.
Later, we were notified that we would begin online MTC training. Finally, I was blessed to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission.
My mission took me to places where I met incredible people and worked with companions who taught me to be bold in sharing the gospel and patience in helping others find the same joy I had found.
When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.
The gospel is meant to be shared, and I will continue to share it with those around me—just as I once shared it with my brother.
As I reflect on my journey—from meeting the missionaries, becoming a missionary myself, and helping my brother find his own path—I know that the Lord’s plan is much bigger than we can understand.
I call this story “a journey of faith.”

Years later I met with Elder Jairo Mazzagardi of the Seventy when he came to reorganize our stake. He asked me about my mission.
Elder Mazzagardi said, “Brother Murilo, I see that you were baptized when you were 16, but you did not serve a mission.”
“I did not serve a mission,” I said, starting to cry.
“But I do everything possible so the Lord will forgive me. I have served as a branch president for seven months, and I try to be a missionary and give my best. I work hard to help others. I want the Lord to forgive me. I do not want this blemish at the last day.”
“Brother Murilo,” he said, “do not look back; look forward. Whoever looks back walks backwards, and whoever looks forward walks forward. You are clean.”
I was happy to hear this! I felt light, happy, and peaceful.
It felt like a six-ton backpack was lifted off my back.
He told me to return with my wife and called me to serve as stake president.
Elder Mazzagardi then said, “Your experiences will help you be stake president. You will be able to help young people who have difficulties or who do not have the support of their parents. You did not have the opportunity to serve a mission, but this is your mission now. You will help send young people on missions.”
As stake president one of my main goals is to help young men and young women prepare to serve missions. The Lord has given me the right words at the right time to talk to these young people. I am grateful the Lord has given me the opportunity to help others choose to serve missions.

When I was called to serve as the Mia Maid adviser in the Young Women organization, I doubted that I could fill the calling. I didn’t think the girls would like me or learn anything from me, especially when I realized how different things are for them than they were when I was their age.
That feeling changed a few weeks into my calling when I attended a Young Woman event. At the event a mother expressed how grateful she was for the Young Women program because it strengthened her daughter against temptation. Her words helped me understand just how important my role really is.
I realized that my calling was about more than teaching lessons on Sundays and helping plan activities. It was a calling to help these young women prepare for the future—to go to the temple, serve in the Church, and be good mothers. I needed to help them prepare for life.

Bev Akre: “My father is a wonderful man, but he’s not a member of the Church. I have been so involved in planning this conference that it’s taken me from home quite often, and my dad objected. I fasted and prayed about it and then went to him and said, ‘Dad, would you rather have me so involved with the Church or with something else not so worthwhile?’ I know if I just love him, he’ll come to love the gospel. One thing I have learned from this conference is that the Lord will help you make your decisions, help you along the way.”

Ashley and Sara gazed at the display case. The light seemed to dance on the silver, heart-shaped locket. “It sparkles like a star,” Sara said as she admired the treasure.
“When I get my allowance on Saturday, I’ll finally have enough money to buy it,” Ashley said, not taking her eyes off the locket. She had been saving her allowance all summer to buy it.
The bell hanging on the door of the shop jangled as the two girls left to begin their walk home. As they walked, Ashley’s mind was still on the locket. “I can’t wait to wear it to church next Sunday!”
“It’s the most beautiful locket I’ve ever seen,” Sara added, wishing deep down that she had seen it first. Her mind wandered to that hot June afternoon when they had ridden their bikes downtown. They’d gone inside the shop to cool off. As the cool breeze of the air conditioner gently washed over them, they looked at hair ribbons and jewelry. Sara was looking at some gold earrings on a counter display when Ashley spotted the locket in the display case below.
“Look at that!” she said in an almost-whisper, as if she did not want anyone else to hear her. “It’s beautiful! I just have to buy it! I’ll have to save up, of course, but I just have to have that locket.”
Why didn’t I see it first? Sara thought angrily. I love that locket! Now I can’t buy it because Ashley wants it. I even have enough money to buy it now! She hoped that Ashley would forget about the locket and she could buy it herself, but Ashley hadn’t.
The blaring horn of a passing car jerked Sara’s thoughts back into the present. Now I’ll never have the locket, she told herself.
Saturday morning, Ashley anxiously waited for her allowance. “Thanks, Mom. Is it all right if I go downtown to buy my necklace now?”
“Why don’t you wait a few minutes and let me drive you? I need to run a few errands anyway.”
“That would be great! I can hardly wait!”
They arrived at the shop and hurried inside. Ashley ran to the display case and searched the shelf. “It’s not here!”
“Don’t panic,” Mom said calmly. “Let’s ask the clerk if she knows anything about it.”
A friendly lady greeted them, “How may I help you ladies?”
“Could you please tell us what happened to the silver heart-shaped locket that used to be in this display case?” Mom asked.
“I’m sorry—it was sold yesterday. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No, thank you very much.” Mom gently guided Ashley toward the door.
Ashley didn’t say anything on the ride home. She just stared out the car window. My locket is gone! It isn’t fair!It just isn’t fair!
On Sunday, Ashley stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She wore her favorite dress—the bright green one—but it didn’t cheer her up. She gazed into the mirror and imagined how pretty the locket would have looked with it.
At church she looked for Sara. She wanted to tell her how sad she was about the locket. Finally she saw Sara in the corner talking excitedly with some girls in their class. As she joined them, Ashley saw the locket—her locket—around Sara’s neck. “How could you?” she cried. “You stole my locket!”
“It wasn’t your locket,” Sara snapped back. “And I didn’t steal it.”
“But you knew that I wanted it.”
“Well, I wanted it, too, and I had enough money to buy it, so I did!”
“I’ll never forgive you for this, Sara,” Ashley cried. All through Primary she glared at Sara, who just sat quietly and stared at the floor.
After church, Ashley stormed into the house, ran to her bedroom, and slammed the door. Soon Mom knocked on the door. “Ashley, Sara’s here to see you.”
“Tell her to go away! I never want to see her again!”
“She seems really upset. I think that you ought to talk with her.”
Ashley slowly walked to the front door, where Sara stood waiting on the porch. “What do you want?”
“I came to apologize. I’m sorry that I bought the locket that you wanted. It’s just so pretty! But I want you to have it. You don’t even have to buy it from me.” The necklace sparkled in the sunlight as Sara held it in her outstretched hand. “I’m really sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“No, I can’t. And I don’t want the locket now. It’s ruined—you’ve worn it!” Ashley slammed the door in Sara’s face, then stomped back to her bedroom. I’ll never forgive her for this, she told herself. Never!
Soon Mom appeared in the doorway. “What happened?”
Ashley told her how Sara had known that she had been saving up to buy the locket and had bought it, anyway. “She came here to apologize, but she’s too late!”
“So you won’t forgive her?”
Ashley shook her head.
“I think Sara is very sorry,” Mom said. “Don’t you think you should try?”
“I don’t care if she’s sorry. She knew it was wrong, but she did it anyway.”
“Ashley, how would you feel if Heavenly Father wouldn’t forgive you for the things that you’ve done wrong?”
Ashley was quiet for a minute. “I would feel terrible,” she answered softly.
“Would you want Him to tell you that you couldn’t be forgiven because you knew that what you did was wrong but did it anyway?”
“No.”
“The Savior said that in order for Heavenly Father to forgive us for our mistakes, we must forgive other people.” Mom patted her on the shoulder and left her.
Kneeling by her bed, Ashley began to pray. “Heavenly Father, please help me to forgive Sara. …”
At recess the next day, Ashley found Sara sitting on the swings alone. “Hi, Sara,” she said timidly. Sara just stared at the ground and drew circles in the dirt with her foot.
“Please let me talk to you,” Ashley pleaded.
“OK,” Sara said at last.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t accept your apology yesterday. I don’t care about the locket anymore. You’re more important to me than any locket ever could be. Can you forgive me for being so mean to you?”
Sara finally looked up. “Of course I can. Ashley, I really am sorry that I bought the locket.”
“Thank you for saying so—it means a lot to me for us to be best friends again.” Ashley climbed into the swing next to Sara’s. As she began to swing higher and higher, she thought about how free she felt without a heart full of anger and resentment. She looked up at the sky and silently thanked Heavenly Father.

I conclude with just one of many illustrative experiences from President Monson's life--one that he shared recently in general conference:

On one occasion many years ago, I was swimming laps at the [gym] when I felt the inspiration to go to the University Hospital to visit a good friend of mine who had lost the use of his lower limbs. ... I immediately left the pool, dressed, and was soon on my way to see this good man.

When I arrived at his room, I found that it was empty. Upon inquiry I learned I would probably find him in the swimming pool area of the hospital, an area which was used for physical therapy. Such turned out to be the case. He had guided himself there in his wheelchair and was the only occupant of the room. He was on the far side of the pool, near the deep end. I called to him, and he maneuvered his wheelchair over to greet me. We had an enjoyable visit, and I accompanied him back to his hospital room, where I gave him a blessing.

I learned later from my friend that he had been utterly despondent that day and had been contemplating taking his own life. He had prayed for relief but began to feel that his prayers had gone unanswered. He went to the pool with the thought that this would be a way to end his misery--by guiding his wheelchair into the deep end of the pool. I had arrived at a critical moment, in response to what I know was inspiration from on high.

President Monson concluded:

My friend was able to live many more years--years filled with happiness and gratitude. How pleased I am to have been an instrument in the Lord's hands on that critical day at the swimming pool.[31]

My mother and father were married in Canada before the Alberta Temple was built, and so they were not married in the temple. I was born about nine years before the temple was finished and dedicated, and as a child I had a great desire to go to the house of the Lord and be sealed to my parents. I understood very clearly that without the blessing of being sealed in the temple, I would not be with my family in the life after death.
When my parents made an appointment to take me and my brother to the temple immediately after it was dedicated, I was very excited. But the day before we were to go, I became ill and my mother decided that it might be best for our family to wait until I was well again. I can remember how hard I cried as I coaxed her not to put it off. Finally she consented, and we went to the temple.
Although I still remember how dizzy I was, I waited in the children’s room with my brother and many other children. Finally those in charge came and took my brother and me to the sealing room. There we knelt at the altar together, my brother and I clasping hands with my parents. A warm, peaceful feeling came into my heart as one having authority sealed me to my mother and father for time and all eternity. This was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life, for I knew that if I kept all of our Heavenly Father’s commandments, I would be with my family forever.
The morning after this beautiful experience in the temple, I was ill again. The doctor diagnosed my illness as scarlet fever. How worried we were about all the children I had been with in the temple the night before, but not one of them caught the disease from me. I am sure that because of the blessings of our Heavenly Father, this experience, which I wanted so much, was not postponed, and no one else suffered because of my illness.

At times in my life, I’ve struggled with feeling alone. Sometimes I’ve felt like I wasn’t important or needed. I’ve felt that even my closest friends and family didn’t fully understand what I was going through.
But when I went to an FSY conference, I felt comfort and peace from the Holy Ghost. This helped me know who I truly was and that the gospel is true. I started to look towards Christ and trust in Him and His Atonement. I realized that He knew me and understood what I felt. My perspective has changed, and now I’m trying to help others come unto Him.
Jacob C., Utah, USA

I had set a goal to read all of the magazine, even if I didn’t think I needed a particular article, and that’s why I read “Managing Postpartum Depression: A Gospel Perspective,” in the August 2009 issue.
But when my daughter was born in October of that year, I immediately recognized the symptoms I was experiencing and quickly got the help I needed, as the article suggested. I recovered in just a few months.
The Liahona is more than just a magazine; it is a recipe, a map, a guide, and a compass.
Bertha Viola Rétiz Espino, Mexico

I received a letter only this past Monday from which I read to you. This woman writes:
“Twenty years ago last June, I was expecting a new baby and had five other little children, nine years and under. My husband chose to leave our family and walk another path. I wish I could say I was a noble pioneer, but rather I was a naive, frightened, insecure young mother who did not know what to do and who daily made foolish mistakes. Nevertheless, I sought counsel from my leaders and obeyed, even when I knew their advice would make my life more complicated. I decided it was not for me to question and that if some advice caused temporary pain for me, it must be something I should experience.
“I remember reading President Kimball’s monthly message in the Ensign wherein he promised that if we would read the scriptures daily that every problem we faced during the day would be answered within those holy pages. I thought, ‘Okay, President Kimball, you’re on. I have lots of problems and they sure do need answers.’ I gathered my children around me and we studied daily, we prayed, we fasted for our Daddy and ourselves, we held family home evening and attended our meetings. We forgave our Daddy and I literally gave my agency back to my Heavenly Father. I told Him if I was not to have my husband for eternity as I had originally thought, I would be pleased if He would change the love I had for him as a wife into a Christ-like love, because I would rather die than go another minute hating or resenting the father of my children. I did not want to teach anger, hate or bitterness to them. I knew my husband was basically a good man, full of potential and talent. He had made a terrible mistake and I knew he would reap his own heartaches and he has. But my personal task at hand was to care for those soon-to-be six children and to teach them in such a way that they could not misunderstand the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I felt I had borne the heartbreak of losing my husband, but I could not bear it if I lost one precious child of God, who had been entrusted to my care.
“I am humbly touched to report the Lord both heard and answered my prayers. The youngest of my four sons (from my first marriage) is presently serving a mission. … He joins his other three brothers and a sister who have seen fit to share their testimonies literally all over the world. … My oldest daughter married a returned missionary in the temple. … The three oldest boys have been Elders Quorum Presidents and Ward Mission Leaders, the two daughters have served in a Primary Presidency and Relief Society Presidency. Four of those beautiful children have found wonderful eternal companions and have been married in the temple. They are on the right track and have tasted the joy of service to a small degree.
“President Hinckley,” she continues, “this is a miracle if ever there was a miracle. The Lord protected and nurtured those children. He answered their prayers. …
“The Lord saw fit to provide me with a second husband and we were sealed in the temple. We have been a family. Was the way easy? No, there were a million troubles to iron out. But with the scriptures as our ‘iron rod’ resource, prayer as our foundation, and obedience as our determined pathway, my children are learning ‘to trust in the Lord with all [their] hearts and lean not unto [their] own understanding.’
“I do not share our story with you,” she writes, “to brag of myself, but I certainly can boast in the Lord. The Atonement is very real for us. Wounded hearts have been healed, confidence has been restored, peace has been tasted in a most delicious way. Indeed, as you have said, ‘Every principle God has revealed carries its own conviction of its truth.’ I think of my first husband, if he could only realize he has already paid the price for his mistake. … He missed the joy of seeing his talented children grow up in the Lord. He missed their school and church achievements, and their mission farewells and reports—all that makes life sweet. How thankful I am that I was privileged to be by their sides.”
She concludes: “I know there are many single parents in the world today. How I wish I could help them see that they must never waste time reliving their own tender injuries. I have found if you cast your burden at the Savior’s feet, He will carry it for you and replace anguish with love. … May the Lord bless you and your family always. With deepest love and appreciation,” and she signs the letter.

One day Joseph played a game of ball with some of the young men in Nauvoo. The Prophet’s older brother Hyrum saw him. Hyrum had a great love for his brother, and he didn’t like to see people given a chance to find fault with him. Hyrum was afraid that if people saw Joseph having fun with the young men, they might think this wasn’t what a prophet should do.
After the ball game, Hyrum approached Joseph and said that such conduct was not proper for a prophet of the Lord. He spoke out of love, wishing to guide his brother.
The Prophet looked lovingly at Hyrum. He knew Hyrum was concerned about him, and he trusted and often listened to the advice of his older brother. But this time Joseph simply answered him in a mild voice. “Brother Hyrum, my mingling with the boys in a harmless sport like this does not injure me in any way, but on the other hand it makes them happy and draws their hearts nearer to mine; and who knows but there may be young men among them who may sometime lay down their lives for me!”
The Prophet Joseph was right. When persecution again started for him, two young men in Nauvoo risked their lives to discover the Prophet’s enemies and their plots against him. The young men showed how much they had come to love the Prophet by how much they risked their own safety for his. Joseph Smith dearly loved children, and they loved the Prophet too.

“Do you remember the time we had the late frost and Papa knew it was coming, so he didn’t plant early like everyone else did?” I asked.
“Yeah, I remember. Their crops froze and ours didn’t.”
“He tried to warn them, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“How does he know when it’s going to freeze?”
“I wish I knew. Maybe Heavenly Father tells him,” I suggested.
“Maybe so,” Ed agreed thoughtfully. “I can’t figure it out any other way.”

Several years ago, I was asked to visit with a man who came to Church headquarters to visit with a General Authority. The story he related was sad and tragic. When he was a young boy, he was sexually abused by an older man. This experience spawned in him a desire for additional experiences. He had followed the temptation of an escalating desire for sexual sin. Now more than thirty years later, he described himself as being in the "bonds of iniquity," and "bound by the chains of hell," as described by Alma.

In total self-disgust, he declared that he must either stop his sinful behavior or end his life. I knew that he meant what he said. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. I knew that if he did not feel hope that he might someday soon take his own life.

He had come to believe that he could not cease his sick and senseless behavior.

His days were consumed with bad thoughts and immoral experiences. He claimed he had lost his willpower and that he was addicted to sin and could not change. He had tried many times but felt himself powerless against the forces which he had willingly chosen earlier in his life.

I sensed that, along with the professional advice I might offer him, more than anything else he needed the knowledge and hope that comes from understanding the Savior and His power to help even the most discouraged person.

We talked of the power of the atonement. ". . . the Son of God suffereth according to the flesh that he might take upon him the sins of his people, that he might blot out their transgressions according to the power of his deliverance. . ., " (Alma 7:13) and ". . . that he has all power to save every man that believeth in his name and bringeth forth fruit meet for repentance. . . ." (Alma 12:15).

We reviewed the experience of Alma and his followers who were taken into bondage by the Lamanites and were delivered miraculously from their power. This experience was used as an example many times for how others were and can be delivered from their bondage, including spiritual bondage -- the bondage of sin, if you will.

Alma said, "But behold, he did deliver them because they did humble themselves before him; and because they cried mightily unto him he did deliver them out of bondage; and thus doth the Lord work with his power in all cases among the children of men, extending the arm of mercy towards them that put their trust in him" (Mosiah 29:20).

I challenged his beliefs that he no longer had the will power to choose the right and that he must now succumb to temptation. To illustrate, I asked him what he would do if someone he respected entered the room during one of his immoral episodes. After only a brief moment as he thought about my question, he indicated that he indeed would stop immediately if this were to occur.

As we talked about this, he realized that he did have the power and agency to make the right choices, but his desire to do so was greatly lacking because of his continual sin. Individuals suffering even from the strongest addictions still have the agency and power to choose righteousness, however, their desires increasingly diminish with a continuation of sin.

Every act of disobedience takes away light and truth and gives Satan more power over us. "And that wicked one cometh and taketh away light and truth, through disobedience. . . ."(Doctrine and Covenants 93:39).

While this man had much more to do to repent and straighten out his life, he at least gained hope and a better understanding of God's power to help him and his own ability to begin to make the right choices. Understanding this truth gave him hope. It empowered him with the hope of change, even though the road ahead was still very difficult.

The Russian soldiers imprisoned in our camp weren’t treated well. They went without much to eat and we had plenty, so we asked them to clean our mess kits, and they consented. We left food in them all the time just to feed them.
My commanding officer noticed, and he called me in. “What do you do with your mess kits?”
“The Russians clean them for us,” I replied.
“I checked and there was food in them.”
“We cannot eat it all. That’s why we leave it in there.”
“You know that’s strictly forbidden. I could report you and you would be in trouble. Don’t do it again,” he said, and patted me on the shoulder.
One of the Russians to whom we had given the food wrote me a note. He told me that whenever I needed help from the Russians to show them this note.
I had put it in my pocket, and at the moment that we were faced with that tank I remembered it. I pulled it out and gave it to the Russians. They read it and then all of a sudden said, “Friend! Friend!” in German and talked to the American, telling him that I had given food to the Russians. He said, “I hear you have been good to the Russians. Instead of us taking you along, just go ahead.”
We continued our march through the forest, day after day getting closer to home. From the mountain path, we could look down and see the American tanks passing by. Just a few days after our first encounter with the Americans, we were making our way along a hillside through the forest when suddenly I had a funny feeling. I told my friends I had to go down—right down there where the tanks were. “You’re crazy!” they said. “Can’t you see the tanks down there? They’ll shoot you down right away.” I told them that didn’t matter. I had to go down.
“Heinz, did you pray about that?” Günther asked me.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then I’ll go with you.”
Just like that. He didn’t think twice.
The other three stayed behind. “We’re not going with you because you’re crazy!” they said. “You’ll walk right into their arms.”
We marched down the hill as fast as we could. Günther, who was quite a bit larger than I, would put his arm under mine and nearly drag me along. After awhile, the other three came running behind us. They didn’t know why, they said, but they wanted to come with us. We continued down the mountain and came out of the forest.
Off to the left was a little farmhouse. As we came through the trees, the door of the house opened and a man came out and said, “Come in fast.” We ran inside, and he slammed the door shut behind us. Then he put us in the cow stable under the straw because it was forbidden, by severe punishment from the Americans, to hide German soldiers.
We had hardly crawled under the straw when the Americans came rolling through with tanks and trucks and went up into the mountains. It was the first time they had gone up there. Hours later they came back, their trucks filled with German soldiers who were taken to camps.
Once again the Lord guided me to be in the right place at the right time. When the Americans had cleared the mountain and were gone, we left the house and marched on again toward home. A few days later, we were stopped once more by the Americans. At first I didn’t speak. I wanted to act like I didn’t know English. I heard them say, “Well, we’ll just let them sit here, and we’ll put them on the next truck that comes to transport them to a camp.” Trucks had been going by every two to three minutes.
We sat there waiting for a truck to come by any second. We waited and waited, for an hour or longer, but no truck came. I finally went up to one of the military policemen.
I told him who we were, and he said, “Oh, all of a sudden you speak English.”
“Yes, I speak English. I learned it in school. I was just scared.”
“How old are you?” he asked me. I told him I was 17-and-a-half years old.
“Where have you been?”
I explained the whole thing—what we had done, why we had civilian clothes on, where we wanted to go—home. He called up on the phone and checked the outfits where we had been to see if the information I had given him was correct. Then he looked at me for a long time and said, “I have a boy about your age, and if he would say to someone, ‘I’d like to go home to Mother,’ I hope they’d give him the chance. If you take this road, there is an American headquarters; but if you take that road, they can’t see you. Good luck.”
Finally we were almost home. Everything was shut down. There was no train, no car, no bus, no telephone—nothing. So we continued crawling through the forest, following the creek. I knew that area well. We reached my neighborhood, and I just wanted to go through the gate of our neighbor’s backyard. I left the others and opened the gate. A little gun that had been put there to shoot the gophers went off. It scared the wits out of me and the neighbors, who quickly came running. But they were glad to see that I was home safely. I sent my sister back to the forest with some food for my friends before they continued on to their homes.
We all made it because the Lord guided us to the right places at the right times.
Prayer had been my strength. At times it was all I had. I prayed for guidance all the time and received a very peaceful feeling that everything would be all right, and it proved to be true. I don’t think a day passed by that I didn’t tell the Lord I loved him. During the war I had feelings of love in my heart. I didn’t have feelings of hate. I think for that reason the Lord spared my life. I stayed in tune with him. I knew that if I kept his commandments and was worthy to receive his guidance he would protect me. And he did.

This story took place in Italy.
Amir held Mom’s hand as they walked through the Rome, Italy, airport. They had just flown from their home in Greece. They were going to the temple to be sealed as a family! His older sister had even come from far away so she could be sealed to them.
“Where’s Grandma?” Amir asked, looking around. He bounced on his toes a little. He was so excited!
“We’ll find her,” Mom said.
“Grandma” wasn’t really Amir’s grandma, but he liked to think of her that way. She was like his missionary angel! She had helped his family learn about the gospel. And now she was helping them go to the temple for the first time!
“There she is!” Amir shouted. “Hi, Grandma!”
Amir waved his arm. Sister Bush waved back with a big smile. She walked over and gave Amir a hug. “Are you ready?”
“Yes!” Amir said.
Sister Bush called a taxi to drive them to the temple. Amir climbed in next to his sister. Soon the taxi turned a corner, and Amir could see the temple. It was so big and wonderful.
“It looks even better than the pictures!” Amir said.
Amir and his family walked around the temple grounds and took some photos. They had dreamed of this day for so long.
When it was time to go in, Amir felt like he was walking into heaven. The inside was clean and bright. The temple workers were so nice. Amir felt like Heavenly Father was watching over him. He felt safe.
Amir waited while his parents and sister went into a different part of the temple. Two kind temple workers waited with him and gave him white clothes to wear. They showed him a video about Jesus Christ. He felt peaceful.
When it was time, the temple workers led him upstairs. Amir looked for Jesus in the paintings. It made him happy to know he was in God’s house.
The room they entered was beautiful. A big, sparkling light hung from the ceiling. Two big mirrors faced each other on the walls. His family was already there waiting.
Mom and Dad knelt at an altar covered in soft fabric and held hands. A temple worker asked Amir and his sister to kneel at the altar with them. It felt like they were joining together after being apart for a long time.
Amir cried happy tears. His family looked happy too. He knew the warm feeling he felt was the Holy Ghost. He was glad they could all be there together.
When it was time to go back to Greece, Amir hugged his older sister goodbye. He was sad they had to leave. But he knew that because of the temple, someday they would together always.

The “blood of Israel” image became still more personal when Bert and Amanda invited his parents to visit them in Bogota. It was a new beginning.
“My dad was a good man,” reflects Bert, “but we couldn’t convince him to join the Church—even though whenever he visited us, he would comment about the happiness we had in our family, and how he wished the other children could have it.”
Late one night during his parents’ visit, Bert was awakened. “I was prompted,” he recalls, “to go and challenge my dad—again—to be baptized, even though he had refused many times before. I woke Amanda (I always have to confer with her, because she’s got the Spirit!), told her my feeling, and she said, ‘Well, I guess you’d better go do it.’ So I went into his room … it was like Daniel going into the lions’ den.”
Bert woke his father, bore testimony, issued the challenge. The response? “My dad put his arms around me and hugged me and cried. He had been shot, stabbed, and injured many times during his life as a police officer, and he had never before shed a tear as far as I knew.”
Within weeks, Brother DuPont had fully embraced the gospel. “The missionaries from the U.S. could not teach him in English,” Bert explains, “because they only knew their discussions in Spanish. So I interpreted for them. My parents came to church with us every Sunday even though they couldn’t understand what was going on because everything was spoken in Spanish. But evidently my father could feel something—and I believe it was the spirit of the people. There was standing room only the day he was baptized.”

Besides my mother, I remember a Primary teacher I had when I was a young boy living in Provo, Utah. This teacher was over the Primary class that was called, at that time, the Guide Patrol. For the class we had a shoulder bandolier, and, similar to the Boy Scout program, we had to set goals and do certain things to earn emblems to put on the bandolier.
My Primary teacher made the most of her opportunity to serve. She was sincerely interested in helping us to grow and to choose the right. In true Good Samaritan fashion, she went the extra mile and frequently had us over to her home outside of Primary time. She worked individually with each member of the class to help us reach our goals, and she showed great compassion for those who needed special help and attention.
In addition to my parents and teachers, I can think of many Church leaders who are or have been Good Samaritans. A former bishop of mine, Les Goates, and a stake mission president I served with, Franklin D. Richards, are two such leaders who exemplified the traits of the Good Samaritan. Bishop Goates impressed me with his outstanding leadership ability. His example was one of unconditional love for the people he worked with and served. He knew that unselfish giving was the way to reach people and touch their hearts.
A number of years ago I was called to be a counselor to Elder Richards in a stake mission presidency in the Salt Lake East Mill Creek Stake. During that time Elder Richards was particularly instrumental in helping me to better learn the gospel and to see the importance of scripture study. He also helped me to realize what a great opportunity it is to serve.
Service doesn’t come without hard work and sacrifice, but work itself really is a blessing. Many people don’t understand that. I have learned to be grateful for work. I have seen people around me who are lazy and inclined to approach tasks with a “What’s in it for me?” attitude instead of the “What can I do for others?” attitude that the Good Samaritan had. Let us not view work and service as drudgery. Rather, let us see every day as a new opportunity and challenge to help those in need.

I close with the example of a new friend, someone we met a few weeks ago while visiting the Zambia Lusaka Mission.

Elder Joseph Ssengooba is from Uganda. His father died when he was seven. At age nine, with his mother and relatives unable to care for him, he was on his own. At age 12, he met the missionaries and was baptized.

Joseph told me of his first day at church: “After sacrament meeting, I thought it was time to go home, but the missionaries introduced me to Joshua Walusimbi. Joshua told me that he was going to be my friend, and he handed me a Children’s Songbook so I wouldn’t have to go into Primary empty-handed. In Primary, Joshua put an extra chair right next to his. The Primary president invited me to the front and asked the whole Primary to sing for me ‘I Am a Child of God.’ I felt very special.”

The branch president took Joseph to the Pierre Mungoza family, and that became his home for the next four years.

Eight years later when Elder Joseph Ssengooba began his mission, to his great surprise his trainer was Elder Joshua Walusimbi, the boy who had made him feel so welcome on his first day in Primary. And his mission president? He is President Leif Erickson, the little boy who stayed away from Primary because he was terrified about giving a talk. God loves His children.