Gospel Story Finder

Forgive me for a personal conclusion, which does not represent the terrible burdens so many of you carry but it is meant to be encouraging. Thirty years ago last month, a little family set out to cross the United States to attend graduate school—no money, an old car, every earthly possession they owned packed into less than half the space of the smallest U-Haul trailer available. Bidding their apprehensive parents farewell, they drove exactly 34 miles up the highway, at which point their beleaguered car erupted.
Pulling off the freeway onto a frontage road, the young father surveyed the steam, matched it with his own, then left his trusting wife and two innocent children—the youngest just three months old—to wait in the car while he walked the three miles or so to the southern Utah metropolis of Kanarraville, population then, I suppose, 65. Some water was secured at the edge of town, and a very kind citizen offered a drive back to the stranded family. The car was attended to and slowly—very slowly—driven back to St. George for inspection—U-Haul trailer and all.
After more than two hours of checking and rechecking, no immediate problem could be detected, so once again the journey was begun. In exactly the same amount of elapsed time at exactly the same location on that highway with exactly the same pyrotechnics from under the hood, the car exploded again. It could not have been 15 feet from the earlier collapse, probably not 5 feet from it! Obviously the most precise laws of automotive physics were at work.
Now feeling more foolish than angry, the chagrined young father once more left his trusting loved ones and started the long walk for help once again. This time the man providing the water said, “Either you or that fellow who looks just like you ought to get a new radiator for that car.” For the second time a kind neighbor offered a lift back to the same automobile and its anxious little occupants. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the plight of this young family.
“How far have you come?” he said. “Thirty-four miles,” I answered. “How much farther do you have to go?” “Twenty-six hundred miles,” I said. “Well, you might make that trip, and your wife and those two little kiddies might make that trip, but none of you are going to make it in that car.” He proved to be prophetic on all counts.
Just two weeks ago this weekend, I drove by that exact spot where the freeway turnoff leads to a frontage road, just three miles or so west of Kanarraville, Utah. That same beautiful and loyal wife, my dearest friend and greatest supporter for all these years, was curled up asleep in the seat beside me. The two children in the story, and the little brother who later joined them, have long since grown up and served missions, married perfectly, and are now raising children of their own. The automobile we were driving this time was modest but very pleasant and very safe. In fact, except for me and my lovely Pat situated so peacefully at my side, nothing of that moment two weeks ago was even remotely like the distressing circumstances of three decades earlier.
Yet in my mind’s eye, for just an instant, I thought perhaps I saw on that side road an old car with a devoted young wife and two little children making the best of a bad situation there. Just ahead of them I imagined that I saw a young fellow walking toward Kanarraville, with plenty of distance still ahead of him. His shoulders seemed to be slumping a little, the weight of a young father’s fear evident in his pace. In the scriptural phrase his hands did seem to “hang down.” In that imaginary instant, I couldn’t help calling out to him: “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it—30 years of it now, and still counting. You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

Sid told me of an experience he had on his mission. It was evening, and he and his companion were just about to return to their apartment. They decided to visit one more family. The father let them in. Elder Going and his companion testified of the Savior. The family accepted a Book of Mormon. The father read all night. In the next week and a half he read the entire Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price. A few weeks later the family was baptized.6

Cinzia came home from Relief Society tearful and distraught. She had prepared diligently for her lesson and thought the class went well. Afterward, she overheard two women in the hall criticize her. That hurt.
She explained to her husband, Massimo, what had happened. If that was how the sisters felt, she told him, then it was time to ask the bishop for a release. Massimo suggested that she not be hasty. “Why not wait to see what the Spirit directs?” he asked.
Cinzia felt frustrated. “You’re just like the others,” she cried. “You can’t even understand what I’ve been through, but you tell me what to do!”
Massimo could have quarreled with her, but he didn’t. He did not even point out to Cinzia that she was treating him in the same way that she claimed the sisters had treated her. Instead, he simply said, “I do not wish to be your enemy.”
Cinzia hesitated. She wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or acting morally superior. Massimo continued, “I want to think,” and left the room.
He felt sorry both for the way his wife had been treated and for her current suffering. Her accusations hurt, but he put them aside. Massimo sensed how wrong it would be to do what she was doing—giving it back. He thought about the problem, then prayed. He realized he could not force Cinzia to soften her heart. Only the Spirit could effectively prompt her to change.
What Massimo did is only one example of what a person who is guided by the Spirit may do. The Lord gives specific, individual responses for each situation. “I think you’re afraid,” Massimo finally said to Cinzia. His heart was full of love and concern for her. “I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but I believe that perfect love casts out fear. Perhaps the solution to your hurt is to love the sisters who criticized you.”
The words “fear” and “love” began to repeat themselves in Cinzia’s mind. Her heart began to soften and she began to repent of her harsh words, recognizing her husband’s love for her. The next day, she told him, “I’m sorry for what I said to you. And I’m sorry I reacted as I did to what those sisters said. When I was set apart as a Relief Society teacher, the Lord promised me that I could ease the burdens of others. Because of my pride, I became a burden instead.” With that insight, borne to her heart by the Spirit, Cinzia began to regain her self-confidence and to exercise a more Christ-like love for the sisters she taught.

A couple of years later, I had the strong impression that I needed to improve my education, and I felt I should go to graduate school. When I started the application process, one of the first things I was asked was whether I had a bachelor’s degree. In that moment, my wife’s words came quickly to me: “You don’t know what the Lord has prepared for you, so you have to finish.” If I had not completed my bachelor’s degree, it would not have been possible for me to obtain my master’s degree.

In September 2024, a family of five travelled from rural Papua New Guinea to Hamilton, New Zealand. They did not travel to sightsee or be tourists, but to be sealed as a family for eternity.
The Church is currently constructing a temple in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, but it is months away from completion.
In preparation for the completion of a temple in their home country, the Wano family recently travelled 5,000 kilometres to the Hamilton New Zealand Temple.
Paul and Christina Wano and their three children, Elaine, 17, Natasha, 16, and Ali, 15, made the long trip to be united as a family for eternity.
Paul serves as second counselor in the Papua New Guinea Rigo District. Christina volunteers as a youth adviser in their congregation.
Like every family preparing for an exciting journey, they were thoughtful about their upcoming experience.
“I know that when I go the temple,” Paul said, “I can be a better person in treating my family and others around me the way Heavenly Father wants me to.”
Christina said, “I feel grateful. I feel happy with my family to go to the temple.”
Ali, 15, said, “I’m feeling excited and I’m feeling like it’s a blessing that me and my family are going to a temple to be sealed for eternity.”
His sister, Natasha, 16, said, “I hear people say that when you go to the temple you experience some things that are new, and I’m scared of experiencing new things. But it’s a blessing for me, so I really want to experience new things too.”
17-year-old Elaine said, “I’m so excited, because me and my family have been doing a lot of sacrifice to go to the temple. And now our time has come, and we’re going to go and be sealed, and I’m so excited. I want to be just like the missionaries serving, and I want to be so proud. I want my family to be proud of me.”
The Wano family flew from Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, to Auckland, New Zealand in late September 2024, then took a bus to the nearest temple in Hamilton.
For four days they received instruction and participated in ordinances that bring souls, both living and dead, closer to Christ. For each of them, the most exciting moment was when they collectively knelt at a holy temple altar and were sealed together as a family for eternity.
Ali remembers looking at his parents. “I was filled with joy and peace because I was going to be with them in the next life. One thing the temple has taught me is that now I have to be ready to tell people about what I felt in the temple.”
Natasha says that the experience has changed her. “It has helped me to build relationships with other people. I want to go on my mission so I can tell people about the temple.”
Elaine added, “I felt like there was the Spirit there. I felt it. Now we are home, and we always say our prayers and have family home evening. Being sealed in the temple made us feel strong so we can overcome our temptations.”
Paul says that he “cried in the temple during the sealing, and I knew I was being blessed by God.”
Christina says that when their children joined with them in the sealing room “it was so wonderful. I wasn’t sure if the temple would really change me, but it did. I look at things differently. Everything is more beautiful.”

In 1969, while visiting family here in Hawaii, my family and I attended the Polynesian Cultural Center. A few years later in 1975, I was visiting again and decided to visit the Center as well as the BYU­–Hawaii campus. While I was a non-member at the time, I remember thinking to myself, “I’m going to come here, I’m going to perform at PCC, and I’m going to attend BYU–Hawaii.” I don’t think I even thought about the fact that the PCC and BYU–Hawaii was owned and run by the Church. There was just something about this place that caught my attention.

My family and I later joined the Church as a result of a couple of missionaries coming to our home in 1977. I was a senior in high school. I’m sure that when the missionaries received their mission calls and read where they were assigned they must have said, “New Jersey?” Today, when missionaries from my stake are called to various places in the mainland, I sense their disappointment. I tell them about my conversion and that in 1977, two missionaries came to our house in New Jersey. Six of the seven members in my family were baptized by two elders from Utah. We were sealed as a family in the temple. My two sisters and myself have married in the temple, and we have families now. I served a mission in Oregon and stand before you today as a result of two young men who decided to accept a call to serve in New Jersey. A few months after my baptism, I received my patriarchal blessing. In that blessing, there were promises made to me that in the near future, men would come into my life and that I should be aware of this. They would teach me the gospel and tell me what I would need to be a faithful member of the Church. Little did I know that a few months after graduation, I would find myself here at BYU–Hawaii, dancing at the Polynesian Cultural Center. While here at BYU–Hawaii, there were men who came into my life who were great examples to me, and they taught me the gospel. These men either already went on missions or were going on missions. Many of those men are bishops and stake presidents today. It was here that I decided to serve a mission following my freshman year after having been a member for only two years. I had a good bishop that asked me to serve a mission. Since I was so new in the Church, I initially said I wouldn’t serve, but because of the influence of those promised men who came into my life, I changed my mind and decided to serve my mission after my freshman year. I’m certain that wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t come here and if I hadn’t met those men who became my friends. I also met my future spouse at PCC. Here, I met great friends – I increased in faith and testimony that set me on the correct path for the rest of my life. I had a wonderful mission president who mentored me and gave me leadership opportunities that would help me later in life to serve in many capacities in the Church. So to each of you, be grateful you are here, and ponder on what you are to learn here in addition to your education.

In the still darkness a bugle sounded, signaling for the pioneers to wake up. Will groped around the floor of the covered wagon for his shirt.
“Time to get up,” he said to his little brother, Tommy. “The sooner the wagon train starts, the sooner we get to Zion.”
Tommy sat up. “And the sooner we can find Mama a new necklace.”
Mama’s necklace had been a special gift from her mother before their family left for the Salt Lake Valley. But by the time they reached Omaha, Mama had smallpox, and it had been necessary to pull out of the wagon train for a time. While very ill, Mama had whispered: “Have faith. Good things can come from bad. You must sell the necklace to buy medicine and necessities to continue our journey.” So they sold Mama’s special necklace.
Now they had joined the wagon train again. Papa entered the wagon with a lantern. In the dim light, Mama’s face was pale, still scabbed with smallpox.
“Mama, stay in the wagon and rest,” Papa said. “We’ll make the bread.”
“The wagon jolts a body so,” Mama said. “It rests me to feel solid ground under my feet.”
Papa hesitated. “You are still weak. But a little while outside may do you good.”
The family knelt for morning prayer. Papa thanked Heavenly Father for their blessings, prayed for Mama’s continued recovery, then asked for wisdom in dealing with the Indians sighted yesterday by wagon scouts.
After the prayer, Papa jumped from the wagon and helped Mama down. Will scrambled out with Tommy. The boys started a cooking fire while Mama whipped up a batch of pan bread. It was almost daylight when everyone settled around the fire to eat.
Will bit into a biscuit and licked his lips so as not to waste a speck of good bread. “Butter and jam like we had in Nauvoo would be good.”
“We must be thankful for bread,” Mama said. “Only by careful rationing will we have enough to eat before we reach the Salt Lake Valley.”
After breakfast, Papa hitched the horses to the wagon. Mama made herself a bed in the wagon. Will and Tommy took care of the dishes. Then the bugle signaled that it was time to move out.
Heavy clouds of dust hovered over the wagon train as it crawled across the baked prairie land. Sweat streaked Will’s face as he and Tommy plodded barefoot alongside the wagon. Their shoes had to be saved for the coming cold weather.
Papa called, “You boys had best walk outside the dust. But remember we’re in Indian country, so keep a sharp eye out. And mind that you don’t get into cactus.”
Will and Tommy scuttled through the dust cloud, careful to avoid the prickly pear cactus. Outside the dirty air, Will stared at mounds of gravel. “Anthills!” he said.
Tommy picked up a shiny red object. “What’s this?”
“A bead. Indians who camped here must have spilled them. The ants think they are just gravel for building.”
“They’d make a pretty necklace,” Tommy said. “Have you noticed that Mama doesn’t smile much anymore? I think she’s sad about her necklace.”
Will nodded. “She used to smile all the time. Let’s make her another necklace.” He pulled a coarse thread from his ragged shirt and handed it to Tommy. “I’ll grab the beads. You string them on this thread.”
Ants swarmed over Will’s bare feet as he snatched up a handful of gravel from a mound. Jumping away, he sifted the gravel through his fingers to find beads. He handed them to Tommy.
With his tongue, Tommy moistened the thread. Twisting it to a point, he poked it through the beads.
Will waded back into the ants. He hopped up and down, wiggling his toes against painful bites as he grabbed more beads.
Finally, the thread, filled with bright beads, flashed in the sun. Will tied the ends of the string together. “We’d better run to catch up to the wagon train,” he said, and shoved the string into his pocket.
“The wagons aren’t moving,” Tommy said when the train came into view.
Peering ahead, Will forgot to watch for prickly pear. A hundred tiny barbs pierced his already aching feet. As he staggered out of the cactus bed, he heard a great commotion.
Indians! On ponies, they circled the wagons, shouting and waving guns. Will forgot the throbbing in his feet and raced for their wagon.
Unnoticed in the confusion and noise, the boys clambered into the wagon. They crouched with Mama, watching the Indians. “The wagon master said that it isn’t a war party,” she told them. “They want food. If we give it to them, they’ll leave.”
“We can’t give our food away!” Will protested. “You said we’d have to ration our food to make it last to the Salt Lake Valley.”
Reaching for Will, Mama’s hand brushed his swollen feet. “You’ve stepped in cactus!” she said. “Those spines must come out. I’ll fetch water to wash your feet.”
Clutching a pan, she stood at the front of the wagon, ready to jump down. She had to dip water from the barrel strapped to the wagon’s side.
Looking up, the Indian chief saw Mama’s scabbed face and pointed toward her. Mama jumped from the wagon. Other Indians, seeing her smallpox scabs, turned their ponies. Whooping and shouting, they galloped across the prairie and disappeared over a rise.
Mama returned with the pan of water. When she bent to wash his feet, Will slipped the necklace over her head. “Tommy and I made this for you. So you’d be happy,” he said.
Mama smiled. “It makes me very happy. I’ve always believed good things could come from bad. This beautiful necklace will always remind me of the day smallpox saved a wagon train.”

The clouds hung low and white over the small town of Liberty Bell that twenty-sixth day of December 1908. Sarah Moseley made her way from her family’s house at the end of the street toward the boardwalk, where her new dress would get a brief respite from mud-spraying wagon wheels.
Sarah’s family had been laboring under the stressful effects of no income in recent months, but her mother had managed to rummage up sufficient materials from an old attic chest to fashion a beautiful patchwork dress for Sarah. It was the only gift she had received for Christmas the day before, and she was fitly grateful for and proud of it.
As she continued along the street, she turned the collar of her frayed wrap up around her neck to ward off the biting chill of wind and lightly driven snow. Suddenly someone wearing a tattered sheepskin coat stepped out in front of her. He had a tangle of red hair, and a crooked scowl on his face. Toby Wilder! Last week he had asked Sarah for some answers to a test in Miss Cornaby’s class, and Sarah had refused. Now he looked ready for revenge. “I would have passed that test if you had given me those answers,” he growled.
“There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,” Sarah said, swallowing hard, “and cheating is wrong.”
Toby glared at her, then pushed her back toward the edge of the boardwalk. “There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,” he mimicked. “You think you know all there is to know about what is and what isn’t, don’t you little Miss High-and-Mighty.”
He glanced up and down the street through the haze of falling snow. No one was in sight. Shoving her roughly off the boardwalk, he laughed derisively and swaggered away as she pulled herself up from the street mire. Her eyes filled with tears as she wiped at the icy ooze on her new Christmas dress and headed for the store.
The bell above the door jangled as Sarah stepped into John Walton’s Mercantile Store. The man behind the counter looked at her with concern.
“What happened, Sarah?” he asked.
“Toby Wilder,” she sighed.
Mr. Walton nodded. “That’s not the first time he’s done something like that. Warm yourself by the stove there.” When Sarah hesitated, he added kindly, “Go on, child. There’s no sense in all that warmth going to waste, now, is there?”
“I guess not,” Sarah responded. “It’s just that you’ve given us so much these past few months, all our food and such, that I just don’t feel right about taking the only spot in front of your stove.”
“Sarah Moseley,” Mr. Walton declared, “since when did I keep anybody away from my potbellied stove?”
Sarah smiled in gratitude and stepped in front of the stove. Mr. Walton came out from behind the counter and pulled up a chair in front of Sarah. He sat down and spoke privately. “After that boxcar explosion at the depot last September, it’s a wonder your father is still alive. It’ll be a little while yet before he’s up and about.” He pushed a wisp of damp hair from Sarah’s eye. “Your father is a good man,” Mr. Walton continued. “He’ll pay me back when he’s able. Now give me that shopping list I know you have.” Sarah obliged him. “Besides,” he added as he stood with a little grunt, “it’s Christmas time, isn’t it?”
Sarah’s face wrinkled with curiosity. “What do you mean, Mr. Walton?”
“Christ gave His life for you and me, Sarah, not to mention for those that crucified Him. It seems the least I can do is give a can of beans and”—he checked Sarah’s list—“a box of baking soda and the like to people I love. Of course, that’s easy. The trick is giving to, or doing something for, someone you don’t like. Now there’s the real test. The problem is that I like everybody.” He laughed. “Well, almost everybody.”
Sarah watched Mr. Walton climb the ladder behind the counter. A ray of winter sun made his face radiant. “Why is it so important to be nice to people who are mean to you?” she asked.
Mr. Walton reached for a box of baking soda on a high shelf, then looked down at the girl below him. “Maybe because the Savior was. Maybe because it’s part of forgiving. It’s the same thing, wouldn’t you say?” He climbed down the ladder and began placing the few gathered items in a sack on the counter. He pushed the groceries across the counter to Sarah. “I have an idea that charity is what Christmas is all about. And forgiveness. What do you think, Sarah?”
“I guess you’re right, Mr. Walton,” Sarah answered, thoughtful.
It wasn’t until Sarah was outside again that she noticed something extra in her sack. A large candy stick. She puzzled over it a moment, then smiled at Mr. Walton’s kindness.
No sooner had Sarah started down the boardwalk in the direction of home than she spied Toby Wilder just ahead, leaning against a pole. His back was to her, and he was looking toward the sun as if he were aching for a little warmth on an otherwise bleak, unfriendly day.
Bracing herself, Sarah stepped up to him. “Toby?”
Toby whirled around. When he saw who it was, he growled, “What’s the matter, Sarah. Didn’t you get wet enough the first time?”
Sarah handed him the candy stick. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
Toby didn’t answer. He just stood there gaping.
Sarah glanced back in the direction of the mercantile store, where she could see Mr. Walton looking out the window, waving. She waved back, then turned and continued down the boardwalk toward home.

My husband and I were missionaries serving in Tarbes, France, in the Pyrenees Mountains. It was Christmas Eve, and we decided to go down to the city at Verdun Plaza to give away copies of the Book of Mormon. The street was deserted, and we started to ask ourselves what we were going to do with so many books. Suddenly, we saw a young man who seemed to not know where to go.
We approached him and offered him a Book of Mormon. He became joyful as he listened to us talk about the gospel. He explained that he was alone that Christmas night and that he would read the Book of Mormon and not feel alone.
After he left, we looked around the street again and saw a woman walking slowly toward us in the cold night. A glimmer of happiness shone in her eyes when we presented her with a Book of Mormon. She told us that she had become a widow recently and was happy that we were concerned about her. She said she was extremely grateful to us. As she walked away, we saw her hold the book against her heart.
That night we distributed every copy of the Book of Mormon that we had brought with us. Most of the people who we gave them to were alone, distressed, and very much in need of love. We went back home that night with the impression that we had received the greatest Christmas gift because of the joy that we were able to give to others.

When my teenage daughter ran away from home, we were unable to persuade her to return, but we asked her to at least attend her meetings. She didn’t. The New Era was the only contact she had with the Church for over four years because of her hostility toward all Church members. But the New Era came to her every month, she read it regularly, and recently she came home, graduated from high school, and is now preparing to go to college on a national scholarship. She isn’t active in the Church yet, but she is home and safe and still reading your magazine.
Name Withheld

A letter and an old ashtray came to the office of the Presiding Bishop in 1991. The letter reads: “Dear Sir, I stole the enclosed ashtray from your hotel in 1965. After these many years, I want to apologize to you and ask for your forgiveness for my wrongdoing. Sincerely, [signature]. P.S. I have enclosed a check that attempts to reimburse you for the ashtray.”

The check was in the amount of $26.00, one dollar for each year he had kept the ashtray. I can imagine that during those 26 years, each time he tapped his cigarette on the rim of that tray he suffered a twinge of conscience. I do not know that the hotel ever missed the ashtray, but the man who took it missed his peace of mind for more than a quarter of a century. Yes, honesty is the best policy.

Fifty-seven years ago, on July 16, 1953, my beloved Jeanene and I knelt as a young couple at an altar in the Manti Utah Temple. President Lewis R. Anderson exercised the sealing authority and pronounced us husband and wife, wedded for time and for all eternity. I have no power to describe the peace and serenity that come from the assurance that, as I continue to live to qualify, I will be able to be with my beloved Jeanene and our obedient children forever because of that sacred ordinance performed with the proper priesthood authority in a house of the Lord.

Our seven children are bound to us by the sacred ordinances of the temple. My precious wife, Jeanene, and two of our children are beyond the veil. They provide a powerful motivation for each remaining member of our family to live so that together we can receive all of the eternal blessings promised in the temple.

When my wife was carrying our third child, our second child was severely ill. Jeanene would hold him on her lap while they did fluoroscopic examinations. She received excessive radiation, and as a result she was unable to have additional children, and the one that she was carrying passed away prematurely. But we have them. They were born to us in the covenant. That is the blessing of the ordinances of the temple. Even though this mortal probation was for different lengths, those who were sealed to us with the holy priesthood through the ordinances of the holy temple will be ours for forever.

I know that I will have the privilege of being with that beautiful wife, whom I love with all my heart, and with those children who are with her on the other side of the veil, because of the opportunities made possible through the eternal ordinances that were performed in the Manti Temple. What a blessing to have once again on the earth the sealing authority, effective not only for this mortal life but for the eternities.

My self-esteem had been shattered by our experience with the disfellowshipment. I was busy many hours each week, serving as president of one of the ward auxiliaries. How could the Lord, or for that matter, the bishop, possibly expect me to continue in this calling? Emotionally and physically, I was drained. But nothing was mentioned concerning my release, and I stayed in that position. I later understood this to be the Lord’s way of demonstrating a need for my abilities. At the same time, our children continued to do well in and out of school. Here the Lord was assuring me that we weren’t failing as parents. These experiences lifted me and convinced me of my worth.

While my dear wife and I were serving as mission leaders in Thailand, Laos, and Myanmar, we witnessed firsthand the power of God that comes to those who make and keep sacred covenants in the temple. The Temple Patron Assistance Fund made it possible for many Saints in these three countries to attend the temple after doing all they could through personal sacrifice and preparation. I recall meeting a group of 20 faithful Saints from Laos at an airport in Bangkok, Thailand, to help them transfer to another airport in Bangkok to catch their flight to Hong Kong. These members were brimming with excitement to finally be traveling to the house of the Lord.
When we met these good Saints upon their return, the added gospel maturity and associated power resulting from receiving their temple endowment and entering into covenants with God were evident. These Saints clearly went forth from the temple “armed with [His] power.” This power to do more than they could do themselves gave them strength to endure the challenges of Church membership in their home country and to go forth bearing “exceedingly great and glorious tidings, in truth,” as they continue building the Lord’s kingdom in Laos.

A couple of years ago my grandson Christian was turning eight and planning his baptismal service with great anticipation. He asked his mother if I could be one of the speakers and share my conversion story. When I asked him why he wanted me to do that, he replied, “Grandma, that is so important. Do you realize that if you hadn’t accepted the gospel, I wouldn’t be getting baptized? I wouldn’t even be who I am.”

I don’t know if missionaries realize the far-reaching impact of their work. In my own family, the blessings of the gospel have now touched four generations. Didn’t President Gordon B. Hinckley say that “when we save a girl, we save generations”? I got married in the temple and have eight children. They are all faithful members of the Church, endowed in the temple. Six of them are now married and have their own children. At present there are 34 of us. And that is not all. Both my husband and I served missions, and our two sons and three of our six daughters have also served missions. Collectively we have helped hundreds embrace the gospel in many countries. Some of those converts and their children have also served missions.

As a serviceman stationed in one of the more remote areas of Vietnam, I want to thank you for the confidence, knowledge, and small touch of home your magazine brings to me and the members here in Phu Bai. Before arriving here, I was scared of the possibility of spending a year here away from family and Church, and I could imagine all types of long days ahead as a result. However, the anxiety was needless. Within a day I saw the chaplain and he referred me to other Latter-day Saints. On Sunday when we met, it was like coming home after a long trip. In the truest sense, members of the Church are one family, and I am always pleasantly surprised at the warm response given to all who seek them out. It is like an oasis in the desert. The gospel is truly a beautiful companion and guide; and here, away from all that is familiar to me, I’ve come to recognize that God is over all and that as long as we are faithful and do his will, we have a constant strength. Since I’ve come to know this, it has been much easier to forget myself and the time and to concentrate on what God would like to use me for here. Thank you for your magazine. We are all more fully aware of our responsibilities, our callings, and our obligations, especially in a place like this, because of it. Our branch is growing. We baptized two new converts last week. A group of us flew to the China Sea for the baptism, ferried by an all-Mormon helicopter crew.
SP4 Jerry D. WilliamsVietnam

For example, last November, Typhoon Haiyan hit the island nation of the Philippines.
A Category 5 super typhoon, Haiyan left in its wake extensive destruction and suffering. Complete cities were destroyed; many lives were lost; millions of homes were severely damaged or destroyed; and basic services such as water, sewer, and electricity ceased functioning.
Church resources were made available in the very early hours following this disaster. Church members living in the Philippines rallied to the rescue of their brothers and sisters by providing food, water, clothing, and hygiene kits to members and nonmembers alike.
Church meetinghouses became places of refuge to thousands of the homeless. Under the leadership of the Area Presidency and local priesthood leaders, many of whom had lost everything they had, assessments were made as to the condition and safety of all members. Inspired plans began to take shape to help restore members to acceptable living conditions and self-reliance.
Modest resources were provided to help Church members rebuild their wood-frame shelters and homes. This was not just a free handout. Members received training and performed the needed labor for themselves and then for others.
One resulting blessing was that as members developed carpentry, plumbing, and other construction skills, they were able to secure meaningful work opportunities as nearby cities and communities began rebuilding.

The Fort Union cemetery is one of the oldest in the Salt Lake Valley. For literally decades, various youth groups have sponsored cleanup efforts, but after a year or so the weeds would grow back and the cemetery would again fall into disrepair.
The Union 14th Ward, Sandy Utah Cottonwood Creek Stake, wanted to change that trend. They wanted to beautify the cemetery permanently. The Young Women and the Young Men of the ward volunteered to take on the project for the summer. They needed to raise money and obtain donations to add a sprinkling system, a black-topped driveway, electrical wiring for lighting, and grass sod. The youth rolled up their sleeves and went to work. They baked hundreds of strawberry pies for sale and staged other fund raisers. They contacted local businesses for donations of labor and materials and solicited contributions from those interested in the project.
Under the direction of some construction professionals, the youth added the muscle as the physical cleanup began. The cemetery was completed with lawn, landscaping, display area, and benches. Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve presided at the outdoor dedication services. He said, “Joseph Smith said the measure and test of a people is the way in which they care for their dead.” Indicating the newly redone cemetery, Elder Packer concluded, “Through your work here, you have paid a fitting tribute to your pioneer past.”

A young man returning from his mission shared his experience with faith. He acknowledged it as a miracle in his life. He said: “I was the first of six children born to my parents. My mother and father taught me when I was young the principles of the gospel. Faith was taught through the example of both my mother and father. When I was only 10 years old, my father, this great example of trusting the Lord, was killed in an accident. I was young and had many feelings to deal with that were new to me.” This young man said he realized that he had two choices available to him: “I could have become bitter towards the Lord and lost all that I now have, or I could trust the Lord. Because of the example of my parents, trust was the path I chose. Choosing faith has made all of the difference.”

My wife’s mother is an expert in edification. When the children were young and visited their grandma, every visit required a thorough examination. She would say, “Open up your mouth so I can see if you’ve been good.” She then proclaimed her diagnosis: “Oh, I can tell you’ve been good. I can always tell.” No child ever questioned the need for grandma to look inside to see if they had been “good”; it seemed natural that their grandma would not be able to discern their goodness by examining their outward appearance. To see if they had been edified, she needed to look upon the heart.