Gospel Story Finder

In the late 1970s the Mauclairs moved back to metropolitan France, first to Auch (pronounced Osh) near Toulouse. In 1978, they moved to the Versailles ward, where the Mauclair and Giraud-Carrier families became good friends, and a young Christophe met an even younger Isabelle. That childhood friendship grew into dating, courtship, engagement, and marriage. After some time in the same ward and stake, the families moved apart, but Christophe’s and Isabelle’s developing romance continued to grow as they courted by regular letters, occasional phone calls and quarterly in-person connections.

Just weeks after Christophe returned from the Canada Montreal Mission, the two, who had met as children 10 years before, became husband and wife on July 16, 1988 in Cholet, France. Three days later, at the Bern Switzerland Temple, they became a forever union. Christophe was 22 and Isabelle was 21.

Aug. 13 We put some pretty flowers on Grandpa’s grave. I miss him.

Aug. 14 I like the woods at Grandma’s. There are shadows and quiet places. Today I saw a squirrel there and thought about Grandpa.

Mine are typical parents. They wouldn’t let me date until I was 16 years old. I guess it was good, because even though I hated to admit it to my most secret self, no boy had ever asked me for a date. I was confident that when I reached 16, everything would change. For years I’d looked forward to it, and both Mom and Dad had solemnly promised that I could date when that time came. As my 16th birthday approached, my family made little remarks to let me know they were aware of its importance.

Mom said, “You’re becoming a fine young woman, Wendy. You’re not so shy as you were a year ago. You’re ready to handle most situations.”

My grandparents smiled and said, “Sooooo, you’re nearing 16, are you?”

My Aunt Maudie looked me up and down and said, “Well, I’d hoped you’d fill out a little by the time you were 16. You’re still built like a beanpole.”

My three younger sisters followed me around the house and kept saying things like, “Wendy, are you going to get married when you’re 16? The girl across the street did.”

And Dad said, “I can’t believe my little Wendy, grown up and ready to date boys!”

So you see what I mean when I say that turning 16 was such a big thing. I had a feeling that being 16 would change me from a shy, skinny kid to a sophisticated society girl. Whenever I thought about that day, I saw “SIXTEEN” in giant red lights flash to the whole world that I was ready. I saw a new telephone hastily installed in my room to handle the flood of calls. I saw myself frantically shopping for clothes for my hectic social life. But most of all, I saw practically every boy at school clamoring for my attention.

By the time the big day arrived, I’d memorized a dozen imaginary conversations for different types of boys. Each time the telephone rang, I mentally flipped through the snappy dialogues.

I was ready.

My birthday came. That morning I wore my new, faded-denim jeans and yellow, Calcutta-cloth shirt. My long, sun-streaked blonde hair was smooth and gleaming. It swung casually at every turn. The faintest flick of green eye shadow made my green eyes glow greener. With my brown bag over one shoulder and an armful of books, I bounced eagerly down the street toward the school.

“Get ready, all you people,” I thought. “Here comes 16-year-old Wendy!”

And then do you know what happened? Nothing—absolutely nothing.

My new, faded-denim jeans; my new, yellow, Calcutta-cloth shirt; my shining, swinging hair; and my faintest flick of green eye shadow were wasted. Even my whole, newly glowing self was wasted. I must’ve sparked as much excitement as an old-style math book. None of the boys said more than hi. For all they cared I might’ve been a wall map or a library table.

My family birthday dinner that night didn’t help much. Grandpa teased, “Well, here’s little miss 16-year-old and never been kissed, I’ll bet.”

“Grandpa,” I said coldly, “I never intend to be kissed. I’m going to devote my life to a great cause.”

For about three weeks no one mentioned that I’d had an important birthday. I knew my sisters were itching to say something, but somehow, Mom silenced them. I kept busy daydreaming about the honorable, sacrificing career I’d have. I also tried to ignore the complete lack of telephone calls from boys.

Then one evening as we were eating dinner, the phone rang. My ten-year-old sister knocked over her chair trying to reach the phone before it rang again.

“Hello,” she said. “Yes, just a minute.”

She dragged the phone toward the table and screeched, “Wendy, it’s for you! It’s a boy!”

“You don’t have to scream so,” I hissed. “He’ll hear you!”

“But it’s a boy! He wants you! Maybe you’ll have a date now,” she said.

I picked up the phone. “Hello? … This is Wendy. … Okay. … Okay. … Fine. … Fine. … All right. … (Heaven help me! Where were those clever replies I’d memorized?) Yes. … Of course. … Just a minute, I’ll see.”

“Does he want a date, Wendy? Does he want a date?” My 13-year-old sister asked.

“Mom, Dad, it’s a guy from school. He wants me to go to the community concert with him Friday night. His parents can’t go, and they gave him their tickets.”

“Do you want to go?” Mom asked.

“Oh, I guess.”

“Who’s the boy?” Dad asked.

“His name’s Norris Elkington. He’s in my science class.”

“Is he the right kind of a boy?” That was Mom asking that.

“He’s okay. Nothing too cool.”

“But he’s a boy!” My 13-year-old sister exulted. “You’ve got a date at last!”

Mom looked at Dad. “Well, I suppose it’s all right, Wendy, if you’re sure he’s a nice boy.”

For a minute I hesitated. The community concert wasn’t my idea of a super date, but … “Norris,” I said into the phone, “it’s okay. What time on Friday? … Oh. … Oh. … Well, that’s fine, I guess. … Oh. … Yes. … (There’s that sparkling conversation again.) Tell your mother thanks. See you. … Bye.”

“Well now, that’s a nice beginning,” Mom said brightly when I sat down again.

“His mother’s also giving him their Diner’s Card, so we can go to dinner first,” I said.

“That’s a big evening for a first date,” Mom said. “I hope it works out.”

As Friday approached I became more jittery. I didn’t want to go to the community concert. I didn’t want to eat dinner with Norris. I didn’t even want a date. I thought, maybe I’ll fall and break a leg. (I could see my hospital room crammed with red roses.) Or maybe Mom and Dad will look me straight in the eye and say, “No dating until you’re 17!” (Don’t think of that; it might give them ideas.)

Well, Friday came and so did Norris—promptly at 6:30. I sneaked one last look at myself and knew that I was as scrubbed, sprayed, polished, brushed, and scared as I ever would be.

My eight-year-old sister snuggled up to me and said to our mirrored reflections, “Gee, Wendy, you look beautiful. I’ll bet Norris’ll want to marry you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I said. “I won’t be dating him again.”

Norris surprised me. He looked better than I’d hoped. He’s taller and skinnier than I am, but he has the same sun-streaked, blond hair and greenish eyes. As he shook hands with my parents, I could see that he was as scrubbed, polished, and brushed as I was.

Mom and Dad and all three sisters stood at the front door and watched Norris help me into his family car. How thankful I was that Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Maudie hadn’t come as they’d threatened to! I felt like the number one exhibit.

Norris sat rigidly, with both hands on the steering wheel. I sat rigidly over on my side. Both my hands clutched my brown bag. As we drove down the street, our conversation went about like this:

“Well, it’s a real nice night,” Norris said. “Not too cold, just nippy.”

“Yes, it’s very nice. I like nippy weather.”

Silence.

“I bought a tankful of gas,” he said. “I’d sure hate to run out.”

“Oh, yes, it’d be terrible to run out.”

Silence. Horrible, silent silence.

“My mother says she’s sure we’ll like the food at the Broiler,” he said. “I hope it’s okay with you.”

“If your mother says it’s fine, I’m sure it’s good.”

“Of course, if you’d rather go some other place, just say so.”

“Oh, no, no. The Broiler sounds great.”

Well, I thought, we’re improving. We each made two statements on that subject.

“What’s your favorite subject in school?” I asked.

“Math.”

“Math? Oh, how nice. What do you like about it?”

“Don’t know. Just like it.”

And that ended that subject.

About then we came to the Broiler, and getting out of the car and being seated took a few minutes. As I picked up the enormous gold and red menu and scanned the price list, I remembered Mom’s advice.

“The thing to do,” she said, “is to order what he does. Then you won’t be out of line.”

So I waited for Norris to say something. He said, “What would you like?”

“Oh, I haven’t decided yet. What’re you having?”

“I don’t know. My mother says the roast beef is very good. But I’ll get what you get.”

Oh, no, I thought. Why doesn’t he make up his mind? Why couldn’t we have gone to Gino’s Pizza Palace?

“Norris,” I begged, “surprise me. Order for me.”

“Really?” He looked pleased. “Well, let’s have the roast beef. We know that’s good. My mother said so.”

It was good, too. But I wished his mother hadn’t practically ordered it for us.

There wasn’t much talk during dinner. Norris looked at me twice and both times said, “This is great, isn’t it?”

Then there was the concert. I sat there feeling sorry for myself. What’s so great about having a date? And with Norris—he’s about as exciting as a bowl of melted lemon jello. And this boring concert, yuck! Who wants to listen to that guy up there screeching back and forth on that violin? And I was tired of saying, “Oh, yes, nice. I’m really enjoying myself. Oh, yes, really!” Well, Norris didn’t inspire me with anything else.

Most of the time he sat there with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and stared at the floor. He and his idea of a date were just out of it, completely out of it.

After the concert, we got into the car and drove off. Now this was the time I’d dreaded most for days. What if he tried to put his arm around me? Or worse, what if he tried to kiss me? I sat stiffly on my side of the car and noticed with relief that both of Norris’s hands seemed to be cemented to the wheel. The big tales I’d heard at school about guys driving around and parking somewhere and expecting a girl to get really friendly ran through my mind. That’s when I wished for the tenth time that I was home with my three little sisters watching the Friday night movie on TV.

And then Norris said, “How’d you like to take a little drive, Wendy, up around Red Hill Loop?”

“No, no, I’ve got to hurry home. I really do.”

“Anything you say, Wendy.” He turned the car toward home.

The next hurdle was the front porch. We walked up the front steps, and for the first time in my life I was grateful for Edison’s invention of the electric light and the big, lighted globe at our front door. Mentally, I thanked Mom and Dad for turning it on.

I put one hand on the door knob and said, “Thank you for a very interesting evening, Norris.”

“I’m glad you thought it was interesting,” he said. “Maybe we can do it again, sometime.”

And then he held out his right hand, and without thinking I reached out and we shook hands! We actually shook hands! Then Norris ran from the circle of light, slammed the car door, spun the wheels, and was gone.

There I was. He hadn’t even tried to put his arm around me! I didn’t even have a chance to brush him off. That’s one tale I wouldn’t tell at school. Imagine, he shook my hand!

Naturally it wasn’t very late, so the whole family was up watching TV when I came in. There were eager questions from them and reluctant answers from me.

After a few minutes Dad said, “Doesn’t it occur to you, Wendy, that Norris might’ve been just as unsure about the evening as you were?”

“Why should he be?” I asked.

“I’ll bet it was his first date, too,” Dad said. “And remember, he found the courage to ask you. That’s a difficult thing to do the first time.”

“Maybe his mother made him do it,” my 13-year-old sister said.

“Maybe he worried more about it than you did,” Mom said.

“Do you really think Norris was jittery, too?” I asked.

“You think about it, Wendy,” Dad said.

I did think about it while I washed my face and brushed my teeth. Three things kept coming back in my mind: how Norris had sat at the concert with his head in his hands, how quickly he’d brought me home when I turned down the ride, and how he’d run into the dark after shaking my hand.

Oh, no, I thought. All I had cared about was how unhappy and bored I was. I hadn’t thought about how he felt.

As I switched out my bedroom light, I realized that turning 16 hadn’t changed me really. I was still a shy, skinny kid, and, I hated to admit it, a selfish, self-centered brat.

There was a knock on the door. “Wendy, are you asleep?” Mom called. “The telephone—for you.”

It was Norris.

“No,” I told him, “you didn’t wake me. … Speak louder, I can’t hear you. … Oh, you don’t want to wake your parents. … What? … Thank you. I’m glad you liked my hair. … What? You thought the concert was yucky? … I can’t help laughing. You say such funny things. … You mean it? You wish we’d gone to Gino’s Pizza Palace? You do, honest? … Tomorrow, sounds really neat. I’d love it. … Okay. … Okay. … See you. … Bye, Norris.”

As I switched out my bedroom light once more, I wondered what to wear the next day when Norris and I went bike riding. I’ll wear my new, faded-blue jeans. No, I’ll wear my … hey, wait a minute, brat. What would Norris like? I wonder what his favorite color is?

While they were living in Florida an incident with a persistent bug taught him a lesson about keeping small sins out of our lives. He wrote: “One evening as my neighbor and I stood on the front steps, he noticed a little bug crossing my sidewalk. ‘You better spray your lawn,’ he warned. ‘There goes a mole cricket.’ I had sprayed the lawn with insecticide not too many weeks previously, and I hardly felt that I had the time or money to do it again so soon.

“In the light of the next morning, I examined my lawn closely. It was lush and beautifully green. I looked down into the grass to see if I could see any of the little bugs. I could see none. I remember thinking, Well, maybe that little mole cricket was just passing through my yard on the way to my neighbor’s yard.

“The story, however, has a sad ending. I came out the front door one morning, about 10 days after the conversation with my neighbor. Shockingly, as if it had happened overnight, brown spots covered my lawn. I ran to the garden store, bought the insecticide, and sprayed immediately, but it was too late. The lawn was ruined, and to return it to its former state required a new crop of sod, long hours of work, and large expense.

“My neighbor’s warning was central to my lawn’s welfare. He saw things I could not see. He knew something I did not know. He knew that mole crickets live underground and are active only at night, making my daytime examinations ineffective. He knew that mole crickets did not eat the leaves of the grass but rather found nourishment in the roots. He knew that these little inch-long creatures could eat a lot of roots before I would ever see the effect above the ground. I paid a dear price for my smug independence.

“We live in a wonderful day. The blessings of our generation are lush and beautifully green. With faith in the Savior and obedience to the commandments, our lives can be full of satisfaction and joy.

“Our challenges in choosing to serve the Lord are more subtle than those of former days. There are spiritual mole crickets that burrow under our protective walls and invade our delicate roots. Many of these insects of wickedness appear small, at times almost invisible. Yet if we do not combat them, they will do damage and attempt to destroy that which is most precious to us. …

“With the influences of evil that surround us, can we even imagine going out in the morning without kneeling and humbly asking together for the Lord’s protection? Or closing the day without kneeling together and acknowledging our accountability before Him and our thankfulness for His blessings? (“Debugging Your Life,” New Era, Aug. 2000, 4).

Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That got Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God, I have to explain them to other people.’”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and they had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.
That isn’t the kind of fame that makes you a star on national television—it’s more the kind of fame that makes you a star in the eternities. And while he won’t make millions from gigantic contracts and endorsements, he knows that his eternal reward will be far greater.

Photograph by Janae Bingham
Flying robots with lasers. Time-traveling blue boxes. It’s all Greek to you. But your little brother has been begging you to watch his new favorite show with him for months now. Even if it doesn’t sound enticing, think of how much it’d mean to him for you to sit down and spend time with him doing his favorite thing. Who knows, you might even like the show too!

Consider Sister Hansen, the faithful teacher of a Laurel class of lovely young girls in a small mission branch in Canada. How she prayed for inspiration that she might teach well the precious girls in her class. Particularly did she pray for Julie, one who had been subjected to great stress and temptation to leave the pathway of truth and follow the detour of sin. Through the constant persuasions of her classmates at school, Julie had agreed to follow such a detour. The plan was designed: she would attend opening exercises of Mutual, even the first portion of the class, that she might appear on the roll as being present; and then there would be the sound of an automobile horn to announce to her that her girl friend and their dates, who were older and far more experienced than Julie, were at hand and the night of the carefully arranged escapade of sin would begin. Then she would be one of the inner circle.

Before calling the roll that night, this humble, loving teacher announced to the class that a shipment from Church headquarters had arrived at her home that very day. She had opened the packages and found copies of a pamphlet by Elder Mark E. Petersen. Its subject, chastity. Sister Hansen said: “I feel impressed to leave for another week our lesson scheduled for tonight and want rather to review with you the inspiration of this pamphlet. We will each read a paragraph or two aloud, that all might participate.” Sister Hansen looked at each of her precious girls and then said, “Julie, will you begin?” Julie looked at the clock—just two minutes before the scheduled rendezvous. She began to read; her heart was touched, her conscience awakened, her determination renewed. She scarcely heard the repeated sound of the automobile horn. She remained throughout the class. The temptation to detour from God’s approved way had been averted. Satan had been frustrated. A soul had been saved. A prayer had been answered.

Kangaroo Island began a journey of recovery, which included a heartbreaking clean-up of debris and efforts to rescue wildlife. But then, the land burst into bloom.
A sea of yellow daisies blanketed the McCann property, along with red poppies and other flowers which they hadn’t seen there before. It seemed to signal a new beginning, and the McCanns decided that—although they still couldn’t afford to—they would rebuild.

Some years ago, I found an article in a local newspaper so intriguing that I saved it. The front-page headline read, “Determined Dog Won’t Abandon Lost Sheep.”14 This article describes a small number of sheep belonging to an operation not far from my friend’s property that were somehow left behind in their summer range. Two or three months later, they became stranded and snowbound in the mountains. When the sheep were left behind, the sheepdog stayed with them, for it was his duty to look after and protect the sheep. He would not go off watch! There he remained—circling about the lost sheep for months in the cold and snowy weather, serving as a protection against coyotes, mountain lions, or any other predator that would harm the sheep. He stayed there until he was able to lead or herd the sheep back to the safety of the shepherd and the flock. The image captured on the front page of this article allows one to see character in the eyes and demeanor of this sheepdog.

The uniqueness of each human being is a condition of God’s creation, even though the differences sometimes cause us to wonder. One beautiful Oriental sister came to the United States and for the first time in her life she encountered blonde-haired, blue-eyed persons. The blue eyes seemed so unusual to her, she later confided, that although she now thinks them lovely, she had at first wondered if people could actually see out of them.

Ernestine, a Yupik Eskimo, was born in Barrow, Alaska. She is named after her grandfathers—Grandfather Roxy and Grandfather Kignak—who were both whaling captains in Barrow, Alaska. Barrow lies on the coast, over three hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle. The Donaldsons lived there for nine months, and while they were there, they became the legal guardians of two-month-old Ernestine.

I had the opportunity to be in the photographic laboratory when the first photographs from the Apollo VIII mission, which was the first orbital mission we flew to the moon, were coming out of the developer and fixer. The picture that I call “the picture of the century” shows an earthrise coming up over the dark, barren lunar terrain. You’ve seen a hundred versions of that picture. Every crew that went up after Apollo VIII had to take their own version of the earthrise picture. To see that photograph while it was still dripping wet out of the solution gave me a thrill that’s hard to describe.

As a young man working in the Administration Building, I was asked on one occasion by the President of the Council of the Twelve to take a companion and serve notice of a Church court on a man who had written various books critical of the Church and strongly apostate in their nature. His membership was in a California stake, but the stake president had sent the papers to Salt Lake City, where the man was residing at the moment.

My associate and I, both of us elders, went to his place of residence. I announced the purpose of our coming. He invited us in and motioned us to seats at the far side of the room away from the door. He stood by the front door so we could not get out until he had time to breathe out his fulminations against us. He was mean and vicious in what he said. He spoke threatening language. Fortunately he did not lay a hand on us. Neither of us was very big. Having completed our mission, we moved toward the door, opened it, and left.

At the time he was alive, his writings were read by many who shared his apostate doctrinal views. They were read by many who accepted his charges against certain of the General Authorities. He was false on both counts, but there were those who accepted his writings as true.

He was subsequently excommunicated from the Church, and that only increased his anger. Instead of acknowledging his errors, he lashed out with greater ferocity. And then he suddenly faded. People seemed to have no more interest in him. He has long since passed away. I know of no one who remembers him. Even the associate I took with me to serve the papers has passed on. I think I am the only one of those whom I know who even remembers the man’s name.

I love whole wheat pancakes. On my mission in Brazil, I bought a nice nonstick frying pan to cook them in. I also made sure that I had a plastic spatula so as not to scratch the pan.
About this same time, I received my first junior companion. One of the first things I did was show him my frying pan and plastic spatula, with specific instructions on how to use them. I didn’t mind him using them to fry an egg or something, but I didn’t want my pan ruined.
On our next preparation day, I heard my companion stirring something in the kitchen. I soon realized that he was frying an egg. I decided to peek in to see if he was following my instructions.
When I turned the corner, I just about had a heart attack. There he was, with the frying pan in one hand and a metal spoon in the other, trying to flip the egg. He was scraping and scratching, trying to get underneath the partially cooked egg, all the while destroying my frying pan.
Before I could yell, it hit me. It was an honest mistake. With help from above, I was able to calmly walk over to the drawer, pull out the spatula, and hand it to him, saying: “Here, use this. I think it will work better.” He thanked me and went on frying his egg.
Back in our room I realized that, as strange as it sounds, I had been “worshipping” that frying pan. For days, it had been more important to me than many other things, including my relationship with my new companion. It had been affecting the spirituality of our companionship. It had become my idol.
I’m so thankful that my Heavenly Father taught me an eternal truth through this small but powerful experience. I’ve come to better understand what the Lord meant when He said, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3)—including the nonstick kind.

September 25, 2005, started out as a calm, peaceful Sunday for Victor Manuel Torres Quiros, his wife, Yamileth Monge Ureña, and their family. They had returned from church and were resting, reading, and enjoying a quiet, rainy afternoon at their home in the mountains of Costa Rica.
It had been raining most of the weekend, nothing unusual for the area or the season. About 5:00 p.m., Brother Torres observed that the river running near their property had risen more than usual and was getting closer to the house. He calmly alerted his family, and as a precaution he and his 11-year-old son, Erick, began placing blankets at the doors to keep water from seeping inside.
Moments later the river swelled to the point that the water was more than a meter-and-a-half (five feet) deep around the house. Within seconds the water crashed through the windows. (The family learned later that a landslide had caused the sudden surge of water.) Brother Torres shouted to his family to run for the backyard, where there were some trees and higher ground. His three teenage daughters, Sofia, Korina, and Monica, immediately left the house.
But Sister Torres couldn’t make it outside. So she ran with Elizabeth, a young child in the family’s care that weekend, to a bedroom. They quickly climbed onto the bed, which, amazingly, floated. Neither had any idea where the others were or whether they were OK. Little Elizabeth reminded Sister Torres, “Don’t cry. Remember that our God loves us.” Then they began to pray.
Brother Torres had been following his daughters outside when he realized he didn’t know where Erick was. Fighting the current, he went back into the house. He found Erick standing on a pile of rubble—a displaced wall, some furniture, trash, and several branches that the water had pushed against a closed door. Together, they moved to the kitchen, where Brother Torres set Erick in a safe, high place. Brother Torres then discovered that the water had wrapped a nylon cord around his legs, making it difficult for him to move. Even so, he managed to push the refrigerator and some furniture away, preventing the door from closing and trapping him and his son.
From the kitchen, Erick and Brother Torres could see the girls in the backyard, but they did not know how Sister Torres and Elizabeth were doing. Brother Torres suggested that together, they ask for Heavenly Father’s help.
Meanwhile, outside and up a guava tree, the girls were also praying. Sofia, Korina, and Monica could see water gushing through their home. From all appearances, it seemed impossible that anyone remaining inside could be alive. Worried for their family and feeling cold and frightened, the girls sang hymns and prayed together.
“We asked Heavenly Father to cause the water to start going down,” says Sofia. “We knew that we needed to have faith; if we didn’t, the miracle could not occur. The happiest moment was when we opened our eyes and the water level had gone down.”
It continued to do so. Within a short time their father came outside to ask if they were OK. It was now dark, so he went back into the house, found a candle, and using gasoline, created a torch so that neighbors would know the family was, in fact, in the house.
A neighbor saw the torch and came to their aid. He helped the girls down from the trees and with Brother Torres moved the objects that were blocking the door of the bedroom where Sister Torres and Elizabeth were. That night the family stayed with a relative.
Because it was dark when they left, the Torres family didn’t know the extent of the damage to their home. On Monday morning they returned and discovered that they had lost everything.
Nevertheless, they didn’t complain. “We knew that the Lord gives and the Lord takes away,” says Brother Torres (see Job 1:21). Even though their home and belongings had been destroyed, Sister Torres said they “just felt grateful because we saw the windows of heaven open to us,” both in their lives being preserved and in the blessings that followed.
Many of those blessings came in the form of the generosity of Church members throughout Costa Rica. By Thursday the family was receiving beds and other furniture, food, clothing, and other necessities from members of the several stakes in the San José area. Four days after that, the family found another place to live.
“We learned that God shows His love for us using other people,” says Sister Torres. “There were so many people, so many brothers and sisters, who helped at that time. We felt so much love. We had no reason to ask, ‘Why us?’”
“It was a miracle that we all survived,” says Brother Torres. “Undoubtedly, our family’s faith has increased. I know without a doubt that God lives and loves us.”
Sister Torres adds, “We have long had a family motto: ‘God is in the details of our lives.’ After our experience, we know this for sure. Heavenly Father knows us. He answers our prayers.”

I think of my friend Stephen who was abandoned by many of his friends and ward members when he was excommunicated. He moved to a new ward where neighbors accepted him, saw his potential, and integrated him into their activities. They really cared about him, and they loved him back into the Church.
The night of his baptism was cold, stormy, and very wet, but more than fifty of his new neighbors and friends came because they cared. At the conclusion of the service, the chorister stood to lead the closing song. She looked at Stephen, saw the longing in his eyes, and handed the hymnal to him. Once again, Stephen could do more than sing with the congregation. He could now take an active part in the Church. I will always remember his look of joy as he led his friends in singing the songs of the gospel.

I was taught about vertigo when my Air Force instructor took me up in an airplane with the cockpit covered by a canopy so I could not see outside. I would have to rely on the instruments. Unknown to me, he gradually turned the airplane upside down, keeping positive gravitational forces. My ear did not detect the slow rollover. He told me to take control of the airplane. Of course, I did what every other student did. I pulled backwards because I was losing altitude, and, of course, I started a dive toward the earth because I did not know I was upside down.
As I started to regain control of the airplane, I could see the little marks on the landing gear were upside down. My instructor taught me the principle that you can take human beings at a two- or three-degree turn while keeping positive gravitational forces and turn them upside down without their knowing they have left the straight and level flight. The motion is imperceptible.

In later years Babe became famous for her golf playing. She was the first American to win the British women’s championship, and she set a record that has never been beaten by men or women when she won seventeen consecutive tournaments!
After cancer surgery, Babe played golf again. And she made many guest appearances at benefits for cancer research. But at age forty-two she was defeated by a second attack of that dread disease.

For instance, when the most recent editions of the scriptures were published, many corrections were made on the basis of original or printer’s manuscripts, some of which had not previously been available. For instance, in Alma chapter 16, verse 5, the word whether had appeared. The original manuscript for that verse does not exist. However, when we found the printer’s copy, we saw that the Prophet Joseph Smith had changed the word to whither. Whether means “if”; whither means “where.” The next verse verifies whither to be correct.

Another example: in Alma chapter 32, verse 30, the words “sprouteth and beginneth to grow” occurred three times. An obvious typesetting error left one of them out. In the 1981 edition, thirty-five words were restored. It now conforms to the original text.

There were many such changes. None altered the doctrine. Each change, however small in detail, was carefully and prayerfully considered and approved by the Council of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in a meeting in the temple.

That Kolwezi district conference in 2013 was memorable for all involved. The district president asked the Kinkondja brethren, to share their powerful testimonies in priesthood meeting and in the Sunday session of conference. They had arrived very tired and very early on Saturday morning. By the end of the conference, they—and all who heard their stories and their testimonies—left refreshed, fulfilled, and feeling God’s love in their hearts.