Gospel Story Finder

Ronald Millet of Long Beach, California, has a book of remembrance of his own that is complete with certificates to prove his birth, baptism, graduation from Primary, and ordinations in the Aaronic Priesthood, with achievement awards for each year. He has many special events recorded that show his progress thus far in his spiritual journey.

As a dedication to his father, who died three years ago, he is compiling and writing a very remarkable life story in the form of a book of remembrance. Through a lively correspondence with his dad’s former friends and personal interviews with relatives and old friends, he has built a beautiful memorial and testimony of the life of his father. Many testimonies and incidents that might have been lost are now written down and illustrated with available pictures. What a literal treasure.

This book has been arranged in chapters dealing with the different periods in the life of his father, such as childhood, schools, mission, and church activities. Ronald said, “I look forward to each day that I am able to spend with my father’s life story. I have uncovered so many accomplishments that I did not know of before. I hope I can carry on his honored name.”

I always look forward to the priesthood blessings my dad gives us before the school year because they give me strength and peace for the year ahead. I remember being scared when I was going into middle school for the first time because we had just moved. In my blessing I was promised that if I chose the right and was kind to everyone around me, the Lord would watch over me and bless me.
That year I tried to reach out to others and choose the right. I began reading the Book of Mormon, and throughout the year I was filled with peace. I knew the Lord was keeping His promise because I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. At the end of the school year I knew it had been a hard year, but I had tried my best, and the Lord had kept his promise.
I am so thankful I have a dad who can give me priesthood blessings. Those blessings have strengthened my testimony because I have been able to feel and see them working in my life. Knowing that the Lord is able to work through my dad to speak and help me has strengthened my relationship with my Heavenly Father and my earthly father.

I always tell my granddaughter that tithing is the best money I ever spend.
It was nearly 60 years ago when I got into the tithing habit. I had gone to Chicago to find a job after graduating from college. I had in my pocket the money I’d earned from a summer job. It wasn’t much, but since I would be staying with friends and since the cost of living in 1941 was low, I thought I would have enough money to support myself until I could earn more.
The first Sunday I attended church in the Chicago area, one of the speakers talked convincingly about the importance of paying tithing and bore his testimony about the blessings of keeping that commandment. Although I had been raised in the Church, I had never paid or even thought of paying tithing. But that changed during that sacrament meeting. When it was over, I calculated how much money I had made during the summer and figured the tithing I owed on it. With almost all the cash I had, I paid my tithing debt. I had barely enough left for bus and train fare, and I didn’t have a job yet.
When I had left my family in another state, I had been sure I could make it on my own without financial help from my parents. Now I wasn’t so confident.
Finally, with only a few coins left, I stopped in a department store and used some free stationery to write my parents a letter asking for help. The letter would probably take three days to be delivered. Could I hold out that long? I wondered.
The next day I received a call from a company that needed some temporary help. (It later turned into a full-time job.) Gleefully I called my dad to tell him, “Never mind! I don’t need any money.”
Since that time I have always had what I need when I pay my tithing. And that is why I say to my granddaughter, “Paying tithing is the best money I ever spend. It buys me peace of mind.”

In the town of Nahualá, Guatemala, a miracle is taking place among a circle of attentive Indian sisters gathered in Relief Society: They are hearing the lesson in their native language of Quiché. The teacher, an Indian sister dressed in traditional Mayan corte and huipil (a heavily embroidered handwoven skirt and blouse), translates from Spanish into Quiché as she teaches.
In an area where opportunities for schooling are limited, particularly for women, this teacher learned to read through her own study and devotion. And she has also begun teaching another sister to read. Because of her hours of personal study, the spirit of learning pervades the whole Relief Society group. Together, the sisters of Nahualá are “feasting upon the word of Christ” (2 Ne. 31:20).

I first heard about the BYU-Pathway Worldwide program when I was in India. Most Church members were enrolled in this program. I was surprised that the Church offered the program in other countries but not my home country of DR Congo. But I could not join BYU-Pathway at that time due to my intense graduate studies, but my prayer was that the program could one day be offered in my home country and that I could join and learn more about it.
In 2019, the program was approved, and I was among the first generation of students in Kinshasa to be enrolled. The beginning was difficult for me, because I had a full-time job and lived in a different area from the meeting location. But I had the support of my family and my friend Patrick Kalambayi. We both walked a long distance to attend the meetings and returned home late. Sometimes we didn’t have electricity. We were looking for places with electricity to charge our computer.
At one point, the government authorities shut down internet due to some political issues. My friend and I went to the local UN agency for help, telling them we had to send our school assignments and we needed connection to the internet to do our homework. I have a testimony that Heavenly Father puts people in our path to support and help us in times of adversity, such as electricity and internet access shortages.
After completing PathwayConnect, I decided to enroll in the public health program at Brigham Young University-Idaho. I completed a certification in public health planning and implementation, health method evaluation and epidemiology. I have learned to support the world in disease prevention and developed a pandemic health program. I was very happy to support my country during the COVID-19 breakout in Kinshasa. People were amazing. I learned more skills about how to control this disease in my community.
The BYU-Pathway Worldwide program helped me to understand that we must be faithful and improve our skills to establish the kingdom of our Savior on the earth. This program increased my knowledge of the Savior and motivated me to gain more skills and to become more faithful.
Instead of dwelling on difficulties and struggle, I have learned to trust the Lord and to pursue my education at famous universities across the world. Today I am proud to say that I earned three university degrees: one from my country, one from India, and one from the United States. As a result, I have increased my income, my faith in Jesus Christ, and my skills in the field of public health.
The skills that I learned during my journey have helped me to build a health nongovernmental organization and work in mental health awareness in the DRC. My recent experience, when I was applying for a new job as a public health specialist at the Center for Disease Control in DRC, the human resources team was surprised that I have an American degree and I live in Congo, and it was easy for them to verify this from my diploma.
The hiring process was interesting and each step I went through, I learned to be ready due to the PathwayConnect program, preparing my CV and cover letter, enjoying the interview, and showing people my unique qualifications. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for the opportunity He gave me to join the team of the Center for Disease Control in DRC to prevent, detect and control disease in my country.
As an African, we are blessed to have an American degree, serve our community, and strengthen the Church in our local area. BYU-Pathway Worldwide blesses my life, my family, and my country in this specific time. The program helped me to understand the principle of working hard quietly and to let your success be your noise.
Whatever level you are in life and whether you have a degree or not, please join the program and work hard, the Lord knows your effort and will assist you to gain a new degree and develop more skills and the world will pay you based on your education and skills.

They had seen it all before. The Ahuna kids of Kaneohe, Hawaii, would be sitting at a ward dinner minding their own business when someone would stand up and inform the audience there would be some impromptu entertainment.

The four oldest, Joseph, Ruth, David, and Angela, would look up, utensils in hand. They were pretty sure what was coming next.

"We’d like to invite the Ahunas to come forward and do their Polynesian dances," the man holding the microphone would say.

With knowing looks at each other, the four would set down their forks, their rice would get cold, and outside to the car they’d go, pulling out grass skirts and hoops and all the other things they needed for their show.

Dad had struck again.

"He’d just volunteer us," says Ruth of her father, Joseph. "We never knew when we were going to perform. But my dad thought the more we shared our talents, the more we’d grow."

Ruth and her brothers and sister would step on stage, they’d spend about an hour putting on their song-and-dance show, and in the end they’d bring down the house.

And there was Dad, smiling as big as ever.

When I was eight years old and recently baptized, I struggled with nightmares. One night as I sat on my bed, I told my mom that I was afraid to fall asleep.
I had been learning that the scriptures hold the answers to every problem. I wanted to find a scripture to help me, but I wasn’t sure where to look. I couldn’t think of any scripture stories that had to do with nightmares.
My mom told me that the Holy Ghost could guide me. We knelt by my bed and said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help me feel the Holy Ghost.
After we prayed, I had a thought to look in the Pearl of Great Price. Then I felt we should look in Joseph Smith—History. We read verses 16 and 17, which talk about the darkness Joseph felt when he first started praying. Then there was a bright light, and Heavenly Father and Jesus appeared to him.
The darkness Joseph Smith experienced reminded me of the fear I felt from my nightmares. The light when the Savior and Heavenly Father appeared was like being helped and shielded by the Holy Ghost.
My mom asked me what Joseph did to overcome the feeling of darkness. I said, “Joseph prayed.”
If I pray and have faith, the Holy Ghost can help me feel peaceful and safe. This experience has helped me realize that the scriptures really do have the answers to my problems.

When I was young, I always wanted everyone to feel included. If children on the playground were being picked on, I wanted to be their friend. I remember befriending one girl other children were mean to. Years later, after I was married, she was my neighbor. When I saw her, we happily greeted one another. I thought, “Look at her now. She’s a wonderful mother who serves well and works hard to teach her children.” I am so glad that when I was little I was nice to her. Then when I saw her again, I didn’t have any regrets. We were still friends.

The family, who set sail from Liverpool, England, in 1856 on the ship Thornton, welcomed a new baby boy just three days into the voyage. The Thornton had been chartered to carry 764 Danish, Swedish, and English Saints. They were under the direction of a missionary named James Grey Willie.
Six weeks later the Thornton sailed into New York Harbor. The Moulton family then boarded a train to make the long journey westward. They arrived in Iowa City, Iowa, in June 1856, which was the starting point for the handcart companies. Only three days before their arrival, Captain Edward Bunker’s handcart company had pulled away from Iowa City, taking many of the available handcarts.
About two weeks later, the Willie company was joined by another company of Saints, under the direction of Edward Martin. Church agents at Iowa City, who had worked hard to equip and send off the first three handcart companies, now had to struggle frantically to provide for an unexpectedly large body of late arrivals. They had to construct 250 handcarts before these Saints could continue their journey.
Every able-bodied man was put to work making handcarts, while the women made dozens of tents for the journey. Many of these amateur cart makers did not adhere to specifications but made carts of various sizes and strength, which would prove a handicap to them. Of necessity, the number of needed handcarts required that they be built out of green, unseasoned timber, and in some instances, using rawhide and tin for the wheels. Each cart carried food as well as the total earthly possessions of many of the Saints.
Often, 400 to 500 pounds (180 to 230 kg) of flour, bedding, cooking utensils, and clothing were loaded onto each handcart. Only 17 pounds (8 kg) of personal luggage on a cart was allowed each person.
Thomas Moulton and his family of 10 were assigned to the fourth handcart company, again under the direction of Captain Willie. It comprised over 400 Saints, with more than the usual number of aged folks. A report made in September of that year listed “404 persons, 6 wagons, 87 handcarts, 6 yoke of oxen, 32 cows, and 5 mules.”1
The Moulton family was allowed one covered and one open handcart. Thomas and his wife pulled the covered cart. New baby Charles and sister Lizzie (Sophia Elizabeth) rode in this cart. Lottie (Charlotte) could ride whenever the cart was going downhill. Eight-year-old James Heber walked behind with a rope tied around his waist to keep him from straying. The other heavy cart was pulled by the two oldest girls—Sarah Elizabeth (19) and Mary Ann (15)—and by brothers William (12) and Joseph (10).
In July 1856 the Moultons bade farewell to Iowa City and began their 1,300-mile (2,090 km) journey westward. After traveling 26 days, they reached Winter Quarters (Florence), Nebraska. As was customary, they spent several days there, mending carts and taking on supplies since there were no major cities between Winter Quarters and Salt Lake City.
It was so late in the season before the Willie company was prepared to leave Winter Quarters that a council was held to decide whether they should go or remain until spring. Some who already had been over the route strongly cautioned them against the danger of traveling so late in the season. But Captain Willie and many company members felt that they should go on because they had no accommodations to spend the winter in Florence.
With inadequate provisions, members of the Willie company started their journey again on August 18, thinking they could replenish their supplies at Fort Laramie (north of present-day Laramie, Wyoming). In the face of the warning they had received, they placed an extra 100-pound (45 kg) sack of flour in each cart and trusted that they would meet supply wagons sent out from Salt Lake City. However, the drivers of the supply wagons, thinking there were no more immigrants on the trail, headed back to Salt Lake City in late September, before the Willie company reached them.
In Florence, the Moultons found it advisable to leave behind a box of supplies because the load they had to pull for a family of 10 was just too heavy. By then, they had left baggage at the port in Liverpool, a box of clothing onboard ship, a trunk of clothing at New York City, and a trunk of supplies containing most of their personal belongings at Iowa City. Even on the trail, they looked for ways to ease their burden.
Scotts Bluff National Monument in western Nebraska, USA
Photograph from Getty Images
It is difficult for those who enjoy all the comforts of modern life to imagine the daily misery of the Moulton family and the other remarkable men and women of those handcart companies. Can we imagine the blistered hands and feet, sore muscles, dust and grit, sunburn, flies and mosquitoes, stampeding buffalo herds, and Indian encounters? Can we imagine the river crossings and the difficulties of sand and slippery rocks as they tried to get the handcarts across swift or deep-running water? Can we understand the weakness that comes from a lack of sufficient nourishment?
During their travels, the Moulton children went into the fields with their mother to glean wild wheat to add food to their rapidly diminishing supplies. At one point the family had only barley bread and one apple a day for every three members.
Just before dusk on September 12, a party of missionaries returning from the British Mission arrived in camp. They were led by Elder Franklin D. Richards (1821–99) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, my wife’s great-great-grandfather. When Elder Richards and the others saw the difficulties of the handcart company, they promised to hurry on to the Salt Lake Valley and send back help as soon as possible.
On September 30 the Willie company reached Fort Laramie, Wyoming, 400 miles (645 km) east of Salt Lake City.
With the beginning of October, winter set in, and the difficulties multiplied as the company attempted to press onward. Provisions were running so low that Captain Willie was compelled to cut rations to 15 ounces (425 g) of flour for men, 13 ounces for women, 9 ounces for children, and 5 ounces for infants. Soon they would face howling wind and drifting snow. By the morning of October 20 the snow was 4 inches (10 cm) deep, and tents and wagon covers had been smashed by its weight. Five members of the company and some of the draft animals had died of cold and starvation the night before the storm, and five more members died over the next three days. Feeding the women, children, and sick first, many of the reasonably strong men were forced to go without anything to eat.
Sweetwater River near Martin’s Cove, Wyoming, USA
Two miles (3 km) below Rocky Ridge on the Sweetwater River, the company made camp and waited in starvation, cold, and misery for the storm to pass.
When the Franklin D. Richards party reached Salt Lake City, they immediately reported to President Young the precarious condition of the immigrants. The Saints in the valley had not expected more immigrants until the following year, and news of their plight spread like wildfire.
Two days later, October 6, 1856, general conference was held in the Old Tabernacle. From the pulpit, President Young made the call for men, food, and supplies in mule- or horse-drawn wagons to leave the following day to render assistance.2
John Bennett Hawkins was in the Old Tabernacle on that day and answered the call to help. He was one of the hundreds of individuals in relief parties that set out from Salt Lake City. On the evening of October 21, the rescuer wagons finally reached the Willie camp. They were greeted with joy and gratitude by the frozen and starving survivors. This was the first meeting of John Bennett Hawkins and Sarah Elizabeth Moulton, who would become my great-grandparents.
On October 22, some of the rescuers pushed on to help the other handcart companies, while William H. Kimball, with the remaining wagons, started back to Salt Lake City in charge of the Willie company.
Those too weak to pull their handcarts placed their possessions in the wagons and walked beside them. Those unable to walk rode in the wagons. When they arrived at Rocky Ridge, another terrible snowstorm fell upon them. As they struggled up the side of the ridge, they had to wrap themselves in blankets and quilts to keep from freezing to death. About 40 of the company had already perished.3
The weather was so cold that many of the Saints suffered frostbite on their hands, feet, and faces while crossing the ridge. One woman was blinded by the frost.
We can imagine the Moultons, with their brood of eight children, pulling and pushing their two carts as they struggled through the deep snow. One cart was drawn by Thomas and his wife with its precious cargo?Lottie, Lizzie, and baby Charles?with little James Heber stumbling and being dragged along by the rope around his waist. The other cart was drawn and pushed by Sarah Elizabeth and the other three children. A kind, elderly woman, seeing little James Heber’s struggle, grasped his hand as he trailed behind the handcart. This kindly act saved his right hand, but his left hand, exposed to the subzero weather, froze. When they reached Salt Lake City, several of his fingers on that hand were amputated.
Early in the afternoon of November 9, the wagons of suffering humanity halted in front of the tithing office building, where the Joseph Smith Memorial Building now stands in Salt Lake City. Many arrived with frozen feet and limbs. Sixty-nine had died on the journey. But the promise to the Moulton family in that blessing in England had been fulfilled. Thomas and Sarah Denton Moulton had not lost a child.
The company was greeted by hundreds of Salt Lake citizens anxiously awaiting their coming and ready to help with their care. Gratitude and appreciation toward one of the young heroes who had helped save the Moultons from the grasp of death soon blossomed into romance and love for Sarah Elizabeth.
On December 5, 1856, amidst the happy wishes of her loved ones, Sarah Elizabeth married John Bennett Hawkins, her rescuer. They were sealed for time and eternity the following July in the Endowment House. They made their home in Salt Lake City and were blessed with three sons and seven daughters. One of those daughters, Esther Emily, married my grandfather Charles Rasband in 1891.
On July 24 we celebrate Pioneer Day, and we express gratitude for the many pioneers who gave everything to build up the Salt Lake Valley and many other communities in the western United States. We also express gratitude for Latter-day Saint pioneers throughout the world who have blazed—and are blazing—a gospel path for others to follow.
What moved them on? What pushed them forward? The answer is a testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. As a great-grandson of pioneers, I add my witness and testimony that their struggles were not in vain. What they felt, I feel. What they knew, I know and bear record of.

As a young convert I sometimes felt uneasy with the members of my branch, and I had questions that went unanswered. But by reading and discussing articles in Le Liahona (French) with members of my branch, I got to know the members better. And I found answers to my questions through the magazine’s messages. I am truly grateful to Heavenly Father for inspiring me with the desire to study Le Liahona. I am happy to be a member of the Church and to read the testimonies of other members throughout the world.
Sandrine Hantala,Le Mans Branch, Tours France District

With covenants, obedience to gospel principles becomes rooted in our very soul. I am familiar with a couple where, at the time of their marriage, the wife was not active in the Church and the husband had never been a member of the Church. I will refer to them as Mary and John, not their real names. As children began to enter the picture, Mary felt keenly the need to raise them, as the scripture says, “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” John was supportive. Mary made some important sacrifices to be at home to teach the gospel on a consistent basis. She ensured that the family took full advantage of Church worship and activity. Mary and John became exemplary parents, and their children (all energetic boys) grew in faith and devotion to gospel principles and standards.

John’s parents, the boys’ grandparents, were pleased with the wholesome lives and achievements of their grandsons, but because of some antagonism toward the Church, they wanted to attribute this success exclusively to the parenting skills of John and Mary. John, although not a member of the Church, did not let that assessment go unchallenged. He insisted that they were witnessing the fruits of gospel teachings—what his sons were experiencing in church as well as what was happening at home.

John himself was being influenced by the Spirit, by the love and example of his wife, and by the urgings of his sons. In due course, he was baptized, much to the joy of ward members and friends.

While life has not been without challenges for them and their sons, Mary and John wholeheartedly affirm that it is in fact the gospel covenant that is at the root of their blessings. They have seen the Lord’s words to Jeremiah fulfilled in the lives of their children as well as their own: “I will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their God, and they shall be my people.”

In the spring of 1844, Parley P. Pratt and most of the other members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles were serving missions in the eastern United States. In June, Elder Pratt felt inspired to return to Nauvoo, Illinois. On the way, he heard that Joseph and Hyrum Smith had been martyred at Carthage, Illinois. “I felt so weighed down with sorrow and the powers of darkness that it was painful for me to converse or speak to any one.”*
Now that great leader was gone. As Parley approached Nauvoo, he was worried. He didn’t know if Brigham Young, the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, or any of the other members of the Quorum were there. What should he tell the people? Should he tell them to flee from Nauvoo? Or should they stay and complete the temple? Parley prayed to know what to do. “On a sudden the Spirit of God came upon me and filled my heart with joy and gladness indescribable. … The Spirit said unto me: ‘Go and say unto my people in Nauvoo, that they shall continue to pursue their daily duties and take care of themselves. … Exhort them that they continue to build the House of the Lord which I have commanded them to build in Nauvoo.’”
At Nauvoo Elder Pratt found that the people had already resumed work on the temple under the direction of John Taylor and Willard Richards, two other members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles who had been in jail with the Prophet when he was killed. The three men worked together to keep the people united and at peace until the return of President Young and the other members of the Quorum.

A missionary told of hearing the gospel in France. The missionaries were not fluent in his language, but he knew that what they were telling him was important, so he studied English in order to understand them. After hearing the discussions, he had difficulty breaking some habits. The missionaries told him to ask the Lord for help. One night he was having extreme difficulty and, remembering their advice, went to his bedroom to pray for help. An hour or two went by and he heard a knock at his door. The missionaries were standing there, drenched from walking three miles in a vigorous rainstorm. “Why are you here?” he asked them. “We were asleep,” they said, “and woke up feeling you needed us.” He paused at this point in his talk and looked out over the audience as if looking for someone. Then he said, in a voice trembling with love and gratitude, “I want you to meet my missionaries.” They both lived near the Provo area, and he had asked them to come hear him speak at our meeting. He spoke of his mission as a privilege.

My father especially encouraged me to pay my tithing, so one day I asked him about his testimony of this principle. “When did you really know the importance of paying your tithes?” I asked. In response to my question, my father told me a story about his parents paying their tithing.
When my father was growing up in Utah, his family was poor. His shoes were so worn out that the soles had holes in them and were barely attached to his shoes.
One day his father gave him an envelope full of money and said, “Take this to the bishop. This represents our tithing to the Lord.”
So my father started walking through the fields to the bishop’s house. It was winter, and there was snow on the ground. As my father walked, his feet were very cold. He felt the money in his hand and thought how much he could use a new pair of shoes.
But my father kept walking, and he thought to himself, “I guess this has to be a very important thing, so important that my father would take this money and give it to the bishop even when we need it so badly.”
Walking through the snow that day, my father realized the importance of tithing. He came to understand that tithing is more a matter of faith than of money.

On Sunday morning of the Auckland Papatoetoe Stake April 2021 conference, while the chapel was still fairly empty, members of the Massey Park Ward filled the seats behind the pulpit to prepare for our final choir practice. In less than half an hour, we were going to perform the prelude song, to invite the Holy Spirit and to set the tone for our last session of conference.
At the piano, I waited for my cue. Our conductor, Brother Moroni Westerlund, readied our singers then waved in our choir’s first note—and my heart sank. We had practiced for months, but still, this song had not come together the way it should have.
Over my piano accompaniment, I could hear so many unsure voices. I heard parts fading out as sections gave in to their insecurity, and in my mind, I prayed: “But Heavenly Father, we tried so hard.”
As we proceeded with our last run through, I reflected on all our preparation for this day. Our bishop had eagerly accepted this stake choral assignment, with complete faith in his ward. Our music coordinator, Sister Benjy Maugatai, recruited her conductor and pianist, and then organised our music and called all our practices. We chose hymn arrangements that were beautiful but simple, because we knew that only a handful in our ward could read notes, and many had never even sung in a choir before.
But they showed up. Despite their many other commitments, our choir eventually got so big, they could barely fit on the stand and we had so many practices.
It was clear from early on we weren’t going to be a very polished choir, but for Brother Westerlund, as long as our singers were happy and trying their best, “Just let them sing,” he would say.
We completed our discouraging final rehearsal, and I looked at Brother Westerlund. He just smiled then addressed the choir one last time.
“We’re performing this music not to show off our skills,” he said, “but to share our testimony. While you sing, remember that someone in the congregation needs to feel your spirit and your faith. That is our true assignment here today.”
It wasn’t long before the chapel was packed, right to the back of the hall. While stake and area leaders took their seats, Brother Westerlund gestured for our choir to stand.
I started the piano introduction for our prelude hymn, and when the choir’s first note rang out, I could not believe my ears. It was a full, bold, harmonious sound! I looked up from my sheet music in awe. “Who is singing?”
Sure enough, it was our same group of beaming, faithful ward members, but as clear as the ray of sunshine that slipped through the chapel’s curtains just then, I also heard a host of unseen, accomplished singers bolstering the choir. Our prelude was beautiful. Our next two songs were just as lovely, and so was the sweet spirit that permeated our entire meeting.
I wasn’t the only one who recognized a miracle that day. Desmond Maugatai—one of our tenors—later said to me, “I can testify, when we started singing, I heard two new voices, one near my left shoulder, one on my right, and they were not anyone I know in our choir.”
Twelve-year-old Kayla Tagavaitau relayed a similar experience to her mother. It had been her first time in a ward choir, and after the conference she said, “Mum, it felt like when we were singing, the angels were singing with us.”
I’ve been a part of many church choirs over the years, but this one confirmed to me a pattern I have often noticed. When we do our best to learn the music, when we try our hardest to commit to practices, when we don’t give, up even through setbacks and frustrations, when we labour diligently, despite our weaknesses and, “after all we can do,” (2 Nephi 25:23), Heavenly Father can make up for our shortcomings, “that by his grace [we] may be perfect in Christ” (Moroni 10:32).
He can even send His angels to sing with us.

When I was growing up, each summer from early July until early September, my family stayed at our cabin at Vivian Park in Provo Canyon in Utah.
One of my best friends during those carefree days in the canyon was Danny Larsen, whose family also owned a cabin at Vivian Park. Each day he and I roamed this boy’s paradise, fishing in the stream and the river, collecting rocks and other treasures, hiking, climbing, and simply enjoying each minute of each hour of each day.
One morning Danny and I decided we wanted to have a campfire that evening with all our canyon friends. We just needed to clear an area in a nearby field where we could all gather. The June grass which covered the field had become dry and prickly, making the field unsuitable for our purposes. We began to pull at the tall grass, planning to clear a large, circular area. We tugged and yanked with all our might, but all we could get were small handfuls of the stubborn weeds. We knew this task would take the entire day, and already our energy and enthusiasm were waning.
And then what I thought was the perfect solution came into my eight-year-old mind. I said to Danny, “All we need is to set these weeds on fire. We’ll just burn a circle in the weeds!” He readily agreed, and I ran to our cabin to get a few matches.
Lest any of you think that at the tender age of eight we were permitted to use matches, I want to make it clear that both Danny and I were forbidden to use them without adult supervision. Both of us had been warned repeatedly of the dangers of fire. However, I knew where my family kept the matches, and we needed to clear that field. Without so much as a second thought, I ran to our cabin and grabbed a few matchsticks, making certain no one was watching. I hid them quickly in one of my pockets.
Back to Danny I ran, excited that in my pocket I had the solution to our problem. I recall thinking that the fire would burn only as far as we wanted and then would somehow magically extinguish itself.
I struck a match on a rock and set the parched June grass ablaze. It ignited as though it had been drenched in gasoline. At first Danny and I were thrilled as we watched the weeds disappear, but it soon became apparent that the fire was not about to go out on its own. We panicked as we realized there was nothing we could do to stop it. The menacing flames began to follow the wild grass up the mountainside, endangering the pine trees and everything else in their path.
Finally we had no option but to run for help. Soon all available men and women at Vivian Park were dashing back and forth with wet burlap bags, beating at the flames in an attempt to extinguish them. After several hours the last remaining embers were smothered. The ages-old pine trees had been saved, as were the homes the flames would eventually have reached.
Danny and I learned several difficult but important lessons that day—not the least of which was the importance of obedience.

Not long after, it was time to serve a mission. I received my call to the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. I proudly shared the news with my family, and they were happy for me, and I thought all was well with the family about my decision to serve. But a few days before mission, my family was still opposed to my decision and requested that I postpone my mission instead of leaving in December 2019, to go in 2020. It became evident that my family was unhappy with my decision to go on a mission. I knew that the God I serve lives, He knows me, and He had called me to serve Him and that the time is now or never.
I needed to make a choice between my family and my mission. I was stuck, but I prayed fervently and amidst all that was happening, I stood firm with unwavering and unshakable faith knowing that He can see me through those trying moments.
The Lord comforted me at that time, and I knew that I was not alone, and He was there for me. I felt at peace even though things had not been settled between me and my family and with less than 24 hours left, the family accepted my decision to go and serve and I was able to leave for my mission. My family has embraced my service and I am happily serving my mission with love and a cheerful heart, knowing that all things are possible with God if we look unto Him in every thought, fearing not and doubting not with faith that whatever you ask you will receive.

It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair at all! Raymond thought as he saw his brother, Joey, coming out the back door. Why does he always have to hang around me? He walked quickly around the side of the house, hoping that Joey hadn’t seen him. But Joey followed him and said “Hi, Raymond. Want to play?”
“No,” Raymond answered. “Now go back in the house.” The last thing that Raymond needed was a four-year-old brother tagging along. He turned his back on Joey and walked away.
Joey stood and watched as his big brother walked across the front lawn to the sidewalk. He knew that Raymond was looking for his friends so that they could play baseball. Joey followed him at a distance, a little closer when Raymond crossed the street and knocked on Pete’s door. Pete was Raymond’s best friend. Pete came to the door, and the two older boys set off for the ball diamond at the park. Joey followed along. Pete and Raymond reached the park and met three other friends. As they took their positions on the field, Raymond noticed Joey standing quietly by first base. “Joey, you shouldn’t have followed us! Mom will be worried. Now go home!” he hollered in his maddest, big-brother voice.
Joey stood still. “I can’t go home,” he said quietly. “Mom won’t let me cross the street by myself.”
Raymond knew that he would have to take Joey home. He wanted to stay and play ball with his friends, but he knew how worried his mother would be when she couldn’t find Joey. Grabbing Joey’s hand and pulling him along, he muttered something under his breath.
“What?” said Joey. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I said that you are a horrible little pest. Sometimes I wish that you had never been born!”
As soon as the words were out of Raymond’s mouth, he was sorry. He saw Joey’s soft brown eyes fill with shiny tears. Then he remembered his friends playing ball without him, and he pulled harder on Joey’s arm. “Hurry up!” he scolded. “I don’t want to be stuck with you all day!”
They crossed the street to their house, Raymond pulling and Joey crying.
“There,” Raymond said. “Now, go into the house, like I told you.”
Joey wiped his eyes and went up the walk.
Raymond ran back across the street and down to the park. He took his place in the outfield. At last he was rid of the horrible little pest. But he could still hear his own angry words, “I wish that you had never been born!” His stomach felt funny just remembering them.
The ball came his way. He caught it and threw it back to Pete at home plate. “Easy out!” he yelled.
Pete laughed and tossed the ball up to hit it again. Raymond watched the ball as it made an arc to the other side of the field. In his mind, he heard the words echo, … never been born! “I didn’t really mean it,” Raymond muttered softly. He felt that funny feeling in his stomach again and wondered if Joey knew that he hadn’t meant it.
He continued practicing with his friends, but it wasn’t as much fun as he thought that it would be. He felt more and more uncomfortable. Finally he threw Pete’s mitt to him and yelled, “Gotta go.”
“But we were going to play for another hour or so,” Pete said. “How come you have to go?”
“I just have to go,” Raymond said, and he began running toward home, pausing only to check for cars before he crossed the street. Reaching his house, he hurried to the kitchen, where his mother was getting things out to fix dinner. She looked at him and said, “How was practice?”
“OK, I guess.” He wondered why mothers always looked at you as though they knew what you were thinking. Is it my guilty conscience, or does she know the mean things that I said to Joey this morning? “Where’s Joey?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“In his room, playing, I think.” She sounded as though she didn’t know what had happened, and yet Raymond couldn’t bear to look at her.
He went down the hall to Joey’s room, promising himself that he would play whatever Joey wanted to play. But when he looked into the room, Joey lay curled up on his bed, fast asleep, with his teddy bear in his arms and tearstains on his cheeks.
The things that he had shouted at Joey that morning still echoed in Raymond’s mind as he went to his own room and lay on his bed. He almost wished that he were young enough to have a teddy bear of his own to hug. He wondered what he could do to make things better.
Slipping off the bed and onto his knees, Raymond folded his arms and bowed his head and said, “Heavenly Father, today I said some mean things to Joey. I made him cry. It made me feel bad too. I really didn’t mean what I said. Please help me to know how to make him feel better. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Raymond lay back down on his bed, thinking hard. Finally he knew what he could do. He jumped up, went over to his desk, and searched quickly through the clutter for a pencil and a piece of paper. He drew a picture of a tall boy on one end of the paper. On the other end he drew a picture of a shorter boy. Under the tall boy he wrote Raymond; under the short boy he printed Joey. Each boy was wearing a baseball mitt, and a baseball was in the air between the two boys. When he was finished, he folded the picture and wrote on the outside, “Joey, I love you. Raymond.”
He crept into Joey’s room and laid the note on Joey’s pillow. Then he went back to his own room to wait for Joey to wake up and find the note. Lying there, he whispered a quiet “Thank you” to his Heavenly Father. He felt lighter and happier inside.
In a few minutes Joey walked into his room. “Raymond?” he said in a little voice.
“Hi, pal!” Raymond replied. “I’m sorry I yelled at you before. I didn’t mean what I said. Want to go out in the yard and play catch with me?”
“I thought that you were playing with Pete and the other guys.”
“Well, I was,” said Raymond, “but right now, I want to play ball with my favorite little brother.”

Aurelia stood on the bank of the Mississippi River and looked back across it. Never before in her eleven-and-a-half years had she been west of the wide river, and now here she was in Iowa.
She shivered in the February cold and tucked one hand into her coat. With the other, she held George’s hand. He was only six and was her responsibility. Ellen, thirteen, and nine-year-old Catherine walked ahead with seven-year-old Howard; little Lucy rode in the wagon with Mama, who was still very sick. But Aurelia and George stood and looked back across the river to Nauvoo.
Nauvoo! How could they bear to leave their beautiful home? All was cold and gray across the river, but Aurelia remembered how the city had looked when she first saw it.
It was already a bustling, growing city when the Spencer family arrived. Thousands of people lived there, and more were coming every day. There were hundreds of log cabins and many brick homes. People were building, buying and selling, planting, working everywhere! Aurelia had never seen so many people—and most of them were Latter-day Saints.
Her family had rented a room until Papa could build a house for them. He had chosen a lot on a hill above the town, a little northeast of where the temple was being built.
Their lot, like most in Nauvoo, was big enough to plant a large garden and some fruit trees. Ellen and Aurelia had helped Papa plant the trees that first spring—peach and apple trees, Papa said, although they looked like twigs to Aurelia. She had asked Papa why he planted the tiny trees so far apart.
“They are small now,” he had said, “but if we want them to grow large and give fruit, they will need space to grow.” Aurelia had watched them grow until last year they had finally blossomed and borne fruit!
All of Nauvoo blossomed in the spring. The mud in the streets was deep enough to suck the boots right off your feet, but flowers and fruit trees bloomed in every yard. Aurelia wished she could see spring come to Nauvoo again. But the Prophet Joseph was dead, and soon his beautiful city would be deserted.
George had been too young to remember the first time he and Aurelia met the Prophet. Aurelia remembered it clearly. She had met a real, living prophet! He had come to their home to visit, and he limped very slightly when he walked, just like Papa! Papa told her later it was caused by the same illness that had caused his limp—typhus fever, which had settled in his leg.
Lucy was born there, and when Joseph saw her, he exclaimed, “Oh, what a little black head!” Even as a baby, Lucy’s hair was thick and dark. Joseph had laid his hand on Lucy’s head and blessed her. Aurelia had loved the Prophet from that moment. He was God’s own prophet and the most important man in Nauvoo, yet he loved little children and liked to be with them.
Aurelia shivered as she remembered the terrible day two years later, when Joseph and his brother Hyrum were killed by a mob in the nearby town of Carthage. Aurelia could scarcely believe that anyone could be so wicked as to kill a kind man like the Prophet.
Aurelia’s Papa had taken her to the Mansion House to see Joseph’s body. A great crowd was there, all crying and crowding to look. Aurelia couldn’t see, so Papa had lifted her up to the window from where she could see Brother Joseph one last time. That had been nearly two years ago.
Things had been hard since Joseph’s death. Nauvoo wasn’t allowed to use its police force, so bad men did what they wanted. They burned farms outside town and caused trouble in Nauvoo. Then some of the Latter-day Saint boys formed the “Whittling and Whistling Brigade.” When one of the bad men came to town, the boys followed him everywhere, whistling and whittling pieces of wood with their pocketknives. There were too many boys for the man to fight, and they wouldn’t let him out of their sight long enough for him to do anything bad, so finally he would leave and look for mischief someplace else. Howard and George couldn’t wait to join the brigade, but they were only six and four then, and Mama wouldn’t let them use her knives to learn to whittle. They practiced whistling, however. Finally, though, even the brave boys couldn’t keep the bad men away.
Aurelia squeezed George’s hand and pointed to show him the temple across the river. Even on this cold, gray day, the tall building seemed to shine on the hill. She remembered when its roof had caught fire one day. She lived only a block away and had run with a bucket of water to help fight the fire. It had been put out, and work on the temple had continued. Just two months ago, Mama and Papa had gone to the temple to be sealed together. Mama said that that was the hardest part of leaving Nauvoo—leaving the temple they’d worked so hard to build. It still wasn’t quite finished. “Heaven only knows when we’ll have a temple again,” Mama had said. “We’ve been blessed to have this one.”
Aurelia looked to the left of the temple to see if their house was visible from here. She couldn’t see it. But she did see Mary Ann Stearn’s house. Mary Ann and her cousin Ellen Pratt were Aurelia’s best friends. They had gone to school together and played together. Aurelia stared at Mary Ann’s house, but she knew that Mary Ann wasn’t there. She, too, was going west with her family. Aurelia wondered if they’d meet again on the way to the Rocky Mountains. Oh, she hoped so! It was hard leaving everything and everyone to travel to a strange land. Why shouldn’t the bad men have to leave instead? It wasn’t fair to be forced to leave friends, homes, gardens, orchards, the temple!
Thinking of Mary Ann made Aurelia remember something else. At the last general conference, in October, Mary Ann’s stepfather, Parley P. Pratt had spoken to the Saints. People had crowded into the temple to listen. Elder Pratt spoke about how hard the Saints had worked to build a beautiful city and temple and how hard it was to leave it all behind. But the Lord had other plans for this people, Elder Pratt had said. He explained that a small nursery could produce many thousands of fruit trees, but that as they grew, they must be transplanted. They need room to grow if they are to produce fruit. He promised that the Lord had a place for the Saints to grow, where they wouldn’t be crowded and where they would enjoy liberty and equal rights.
Aurelia knew that it was true. She thought of those tiny twigs of fruit trees she and Ellen and Papa had planted. She had seen them grow and blossom and produce sweet fruit. It was hard to leave Nauvoo, but it was time to be transplanted to a place where she and her family and all the Saints could grow strong and bloom.
Aurelia murmured, “Farewell, Nauvoo,” and turned with George to face the west. It would be a long journey to the Rockies, but she had her family and the true gospel. She was ready.

“I got here as soon as I could, Bishop,” said Keith, meeting the bishop in front of his office. The bishop opened the door but didn’t say anything. When Keith stepped inside, he saw Mike Wade and a thin, familiar-looking girl standing in the far corner of the room. They both looked uncomfortable.
“Keith,” the bishop said, “I think these people have something to tell you.”
Mike pointed to the girl. “My sister Sharon. I know we don’t look like we’re from the same family. I got all the healthy genes, I guess. She’s … ” Mike’s voice trailed off.
The pale girl started to speak. Before she could, it hit Keith.
“Hey, you’re the girl that came to my Sunday School class. And haven’t I seen you around school? Only with different hair?”
“Keith,” Sharon began in a soft, clear voice. “I’m afraid we’ve been doing some awful things to you. It was all my idea, so don’t blame Mike. We’ve been spying on you, following you, and causing you all sorts of grief.”
“I, I don’t understand.”
“I had to find out if you really believed what you said.”
“What I said about what?”
“Let’s just say we caught your broadcast from the lunchroom.”
“Ohhh no. Not that again,” Keith sighed.
She smiled. “It wasn’t only that. It’s a long story.”
Mike cut in. “We live near your church, and every day we’d wake up when your car would come chugging down the road.”
“I go to church on Sundays and early-morning seminary the rest of the week,” Keith explained. “I guess I better get my muffler fixed.”
Sharon picked up the story. “At first, the noise just made us mad. But then I got to thinking. Why would someone get up at 5:30 every morning? After hearing what you said last week, I—we—followed you to your church. I realized you go all alone; like no one’s forcing you to do this religious thing. I was curious to know more in view of my current situation.”
“Current situation,” Keith repeated mechanically.
“Under this wig, I don’t have any hair. Chemotherapy. And it’s not doing much good anymore.”
Keith stared blankly, then allowed what she had just told him to sink in.
“I’m not looking for miracle cures or healings. I’m beyond that, I think. What I am looking for is—how do I put this?—not why I’m going to die, but why I lived in the first place. Does my life count for anything? Is there some sort of plan to all this?”
“Anyway,” Mike continued, “Sharon’s got this funny feeling that maybe you know something most everybody else doesn’t. So she crashed your church class, eavesdropped, tested you, and even made me threaten you. I’m sorry about that.”
Keith looked from one to the other and found himself speechless.
“I don’t blame you if you’re angry, but I was getting kind of desperate to know if there was anybody out there who really believed in anything. I remember what you were saying in that church class, and it made me feel really good inside. I think you can tell me what I want to know. You can tell me why?”
Keith met her gaze. “Yeah, I think I can.”
The bishop, who had been standing behind them, finally spoke. “She’s asked to take the discussions from the missionaries, Keith. Maybe you’d like to sit in on them with her.”
Keith smiled and hooked a thumb at Mike. “What about His Wallness?”
Mike grinned. “Well, I could go. I guess I owe you that much.”
Keith added, “Maybe I could learn a few things too. Maybe even pick up a few pointers that will come in handy for the next two years.”