Gospel Story Finder

Prior to travel restrictions caused by the current pandemic, I was returning home from an international assignment which, due to scheduling issues, created a Sunday layover. I had time between flights to attend a local sacrament meeting, where I was also able to share a brief message. Following the meeting, an enthusiastic deacon approached me and asked if I knew President Nelson and if I had ever had a chance to shake his hand. I answered that I did know him, that I had shaken his hand, and that, as a member of the Presiding Bishopric, I had the opportunity to meet with President Nelson and his counselors a couple of times each week.
The young deacon then sat down on a chair, threw his hands in the air, and shouted, “This is the greatest day of my life!” Brothers and sisters, I may not throw my hands in the air and shout, but I am eternally grateful for a living prophet and for the direction we receive from prophets, seers, and revelators, especially during these times of challenge.

Some years ago one of my high school friends visited me. We talked over old times. Unfortunately he had chosen a life of moral transgression. At one point he broke out in tears and exclaimed, almost like a broken record, "I want to be clean, I want to be clean, I want to be clean." To his credit he eventually changed his life to conform to the moral standards he knew to be correct. Like my friend, I believe there is an innate desire in every man and woman to be morally clean--oh, there may be some moments of rationalization, or expressions that yield to the peer pressure and fashions of the day, but in the quiet, reflective moments of life, when one ponders who he really is and what he really wants to become, there emerges a God-given desire to be clean, to be holy, to be right with that very being who created him and planted within him the creative powers.

One cool, crisp day we were scrimmaging on the football field at Granite High School in Salt Lake City. We were preparing for a big game on Friday afternoon. The farmers who had been harvesting their celery crops in the fields around the stadium came over to watch us. Earlier that afternoon the fastener on my helmet had broken, and I had difficulty keeping my helmet on. In every play as I was jostled, my helmet would fly off and go rolling away, and I would have to scurry around and find it before the next play. Coach Rex Sutherland would not let us play without helmets because it was too dangerous.
On one important play I received a slight jar and my helmet went rolling away, but the play was still moving and I was in the middle of it. I didn’t want to leave the action of the play and go find my helmet, so I continued to press hard to tackle the ball carrier on the other side. I put my head down to bore in and try to grab the ball carrier. One of the players who was running interference for the ball carrier hit me hard, and I went down and lost consciousness.
Imagine my embarrassment when I regained consciousness and found the players huddled around looking down at me while I was lying on my back on the ground. It seemed like not only the players, but also the spectators were wondering what was the matter with me. Coach Sutherland wanted to know, in a concerned voice, if I could move. I was a little sick to my stomach and unsteady, but I said in as strong a voice as I could muster that I was all right. Then I got up and found my helmet and headed for my position in the lineup for the next play.
That was the only time that I was ever knocked unconscious. It was my own fault. I had learned a great lesson—it is always important to keep your chin strap fastened so that your helmet is in place and you have protection.

Illustration by Patricia Geis
Ava squirmed in her seat. She bounced. She wiggled. She heard her Primary teacher talking. But Ava could not pay attention. All she could think about was the box under Sister Obi’s chair.
It was wrapped in shiny blue paper. It had a gold bow on top. What could it be? Ava leaned her head way down. She stared at the box. She wished she could see through the shiny paper. She could hardly wait to find out what was inside.
Finally Sister Obi pulled out the box. She set it on her lap. Ava leaned forward. But Sister Obi didn’t open it.
Sister Obi held out the box. “Inside this box is one of Heavenly Father’s greatest creations. Look inside. Then pass it on without saying anything.” She passed the box to Noah.
Noah slowly lifted the lid. He stared inside the box. He smiled. Then he passed the box to June.
Ava stood on her tiptoes to try to see. But it wasn’t her turn yet. What could be so important to Heavenly Father? And how could something so special fit in such a little box?
She watched everyone take a turn. One by one, each of her friends opened the box. They looked inside. They smiled.
Finally it was Ava’s turn! She lifted the shiny lid and looked inside. It was a mirror! Ava looked at the mirror in the box. She saw her own face looking back.
Ava saw her eyes get big. Was she one of Heavenly Father’s greatest creations? Did Heavenly Father love her that much?
Ava smiled. She felt warm and happy inside. It was like a big hug. A big hug from Heavenly Father. He did love her! She was one of His greatest creations.

The year 2024 is something of a milestone year for me. It marks 75 years since I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Zwickau, Germany.
When I think about my personal journey of discipleship, my mind often goes back to an old villa in Zwickau, where I have cherished memories of attending sacrament meetings of the Church of Jesus Christ as a child. It is there where the seedling of my testimony received its earliest nourishing.
This chapel had an old air-driven organ. Every Sunday a young man was assigned to push up and down the sturdy lever operating the bellows to make the organ work. I sometimes had the great privilege of assisting in this important task.
While the congregation sang our beloved hymns, I pumped with all my strength so the organ would not run out of wind. From the bellows operator seat, I had a great view of some stunning stained-glass windows, one depicting the Savior Jesus Christ and another portraying Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove.
I can still remember the sacred feelings I had as I looked at those sunlit windows while listening to the testimonies of the Saints and singing the hymns of Zion.
In that holy place, the Spirit of God bore witness to my mind and heart that it was true: Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. This is His Church. The Prophet Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ and heard Their voices.
Earlier this year, while on assignment in Europe, I had the opportunity to return to Zwickau. Sadly, that beloved old chapel isn’t there anymore. It was torn down many years ago to make room for a large apartment building.
I admit that it’s sad to know that this beloved building from my childhood is now just a memory. It was a sacred building to me. But it was just a building.
By contrast, the spiritual witness I gained from the Holy Ghost those many years ago has not passed away. In fact, it has grown stronger. The things I learned in my youth about the fundamental principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ have been my firm foundation throughout my life. The covenant connection I forged with my Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son has stayed with me—long after the Zwickau chapel was dismantled and the stained-glass windows were lost.
My dear brothers and sisters, my dear friends, there’s a part of me that misses the old Zwickau chapel and its stained-glass windows. But over the past 75 years, Jesus Christ has led me on a journey through life that is more thrilling than I could ever have imagined. He has comforted me in my afflictions, helped me to recognize my weaknesses, healed my spiritual wounds, and nourished me in my growing faith.

Susan woke with a start. What was that noise? She listened carefully. The wind howled through the eucalyptus trees and knocked seedpods onto the roof above her bedroom. The noise of their falling sounded like heavy rain, and it had awakened her.
Susan sighed. Her family had just moved into this house, and she wasn’t used to all the new sounds. It didn’t help that Susan now slept alone. In their old house she had shared a bedroom with her older sister.
She pulled her blankets up under her chin as another shower of pods hit the roof. She was scared, lonely, and, she realized, missing her dad. Susan’s dad was an officer in the military. He was away on training. Although he wasn’t in danger, Susan suddenly grew frightened. What if someday her dad was sent to war and got killed? She didn’t want to grow up without her father. She needed him.
Tears pricked her eyes, and Susan knew she needed help to calm her growing fears. Her sister wasn’t nearby, but she knew that Jesus and Heavenly Father were always close.
Gathering her courage, Susan slipped out from under her blankets and knelt by the side of her bed. She prayed to Heavenly Father to help her, to take away her fear.
And then Susan heard something. It was softer than the clatter on the roof. It was her mother’s voice, and she was singing. As her mother walked through the house, finishing up her chores and getting ready for bed, she sang.
Susan’s mother had a beautiful voice and sang often, but this was the most wonderful song Susan had ever heard her sing. Though Susan didn’t recognize the tune, the words were about Jesus. The song filled her with peace.
Susan thanked Heavenly Father, then climbed back into bed, and listened to her mother’s song. Tears came to her eyes again, this time tears of gratitude and relief. She felt that all was well. She knew she had a loving family. She knew that Heavenly Father cared about her. She believed that no matter what happened, there would always be a reason to hope. Susan knew that whenever fears threatened to overcome her, she could find peace by remembering the night her mother’s song was stronger than fear.

“She can’t see! The fever has left Sister Stratton completely blind!” The news swept rapidly through the little pioneer town of Virgin, Utah. Sister Emily Amanda Gardner Stratton, beloved Primary president in the Virgin Ward, had lost her sight following a sudden illness. She had lovingly and faithfully served the children in the southern Utah town for fifteen years, and she had helped many of the ward members in times of trouble. Now it was she who needed help. But how could they help her?
The local doctor had done everything he could for her and had advised her family to take her to the nearest hospital, which was in St. George, Utah. It was her only hope if she was to see again.
For weeks, the doctors in St. George tried every treatment that they knew, but nothing seemed to work. When their last treatment failed, Sister Stratton sent word that she wanted to come home.
The children and Primary workers in Virgin had prayed diligently for her recovery. When they heard that the doctors had given up, they were even more determined to do whatever they could to help their dedicated Primary president.
Someone suggested that they hold a special fast for her. They knew that if they had faith and fasted and prayed, Heavenly Father would help her in ways they could not.
It was difficult to go without food all day, but even the youngest Primary children fasted and prayed for their beloved leader.
That evening, they all met at the tiny meetinghouse to close their fast with prayer. Afterward, they felt great peace and joy and knew that Heavenly Father had heard their prayers. The sunset was glorious, casting rays of red and gold throughout the western sky as they went to their homes.
A few days later, Sister Stratton’s wagon creaked as it rolled along the dusty road toward Virgin. The children and Primary leaders hurried to greet her and tell her of their special fast.
“What time was your fast meeting, children?” Sister Stratton asked.
“It was at sunset!” one child exclaimed.
Sister Stratton sat back. Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke. “At sunset on that day, I was sitting in a chair by the west window of my hospital room. As I looked up, I saw the sunset for the first time since the fever stole my sight. Yes, children, I can see!”
The loving prayers and faith-filled fasting of the Virgin Ward Primary had been answered with a miracle. For the rest of Sister Stratton’s life, she was blessed with perfect eyesight.

President Uchtdorf talked about two missionaries in Germany who were knocking on doors, looking for someone to teach. They got all the way up to the top floor and the last door of an apartment building before they met someone who would listen to their message. That family got baptized. One of the daughters was named Harriet, and when she grew up, she married President Uchtdorf! President Uchtdorf said he is very grateful that those missionaries didn’t give up. When we seek the Lord, we shouldn’t give up either.

While serving with her husband, George C. Pingree, as he presided over the Nigeria Port Harcourt Mission, Sister Pingree focused some of her efforts on promoting literacy, especially among auxiliary leaders. “I’ll never forget how joyful the sisters were when they learned to read. When they stood up in training meetings and read simple sentences about their leadership responsibility, the other women there would clap for them, they were so happy,” says Sister Pingree. “It opened up a whole new world.”

One night when I was a new Beehive, I awoke from a bad dream. I didn’t want to wake my parents because I thought I was too old for nightmares, but this one really shook me up, and I was scared.
While I was sitting up, I remembered the lesson we had about the scriptures the previous Sunday. My teacher talked about how the scriptures can comfort us and guide us if we read them with the Spirit. So I took out my scriptures and looked up the term “fear” in the Topical Guide. I scanned a few scriptures and then Isaiah 41:10 popped out of the page at me. The words that caught my eye were, “Fear thou not; for I am with thee.” These simple words comforted me and made me realize that Heavenly Father was with me. He was there to comfort me, even for something as silly as a nightmare.

My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.

My sister had to give an important talk in seminary. She spent two hours working on it on the computer. Then she started working on something else on the computer. When she went back to print out the talk, it had been deleted from the computer. This happened at 10:00 P.M., and I was in bed asleep. She and Mom woke up my older brother and asked for his help. They even called Dad, who was in North Carolina for the week. Neither my brother nor Dad could help get the talk back. They all went to bed upset and discouraged.
In the morning, Mom told me about the talk being deleted. I asked, “Did you pray about it?” Mom said that they hadn’t done that. When I went upstairs to get ready for school, a part of a scripture, Moroni 10:4, came to my mind: “… if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ. …” I thought, Well, I think I have a sincere heart, and I really want my sister to have her talk back, and I have faith in Christ. So I decided to pray as the scripture told me.
When I came home from school, Mom met me at the door and told me that when she got on the computer to work on her Scout committee records, the talk came up on the screen. She printed it out immediately for my sister, who did a good job when she gave the talk. We all learned from that experience how important it is to have faith and to pray and ask Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus Christ for all the things that we need help with.

When I was a little girl, my parents took my sister and me to an orchard owned by the Church. We were there to help pick peaches. We climbed up on tall ladders and reached through thick leaves to pick the peaches off the trees.
At first, we were excited. But soon the fuzz on the fruit made our arms all itchy! We told our mom, “We don’t want to do this anymore. We want to stop.”
My mom asked us if we knew where all the peaches went. When we said no, she explained it to us.
“Each of these peaches is taken to a building where volunteers put them in cans. Then those cans are given to people who need food. Each year the Church donates thousands of cans of food.”
All of a sudden, my sister and I stopped worrying about our itchy arms. We were helping people who needed food! After that, we had fun climbing up the ladders and picking the fuzzy orange fruit.

A sign in the Smiths’ front yard says “Smiths’ Blissful Acres.” Blissful means “happy,” and the Smiths have found that working and playing together make them happy. They live in a house that was once a barn on 10 acres (4 ha) amid brush-covered hills. Here you’ll find a tree house with a rope swing, a pond with canoes, a vegetable garden, a fruit orchard, steers, chickens, and a big dog named Rascal. You’ll also find ten-year-old Daniel, eight-year-old Steven, and six-year-old Alysa Smith. They have four older brothers, an older sister, and lots of cousins. They love being part of a large family.
On Saturday, October 25, 2003, a small fire started 18 miles from the Smiths’ home. But in a few days the wind had turned the small fire into the largest fire in the history of California. By Tuesday, the fire was burning toward Smiths’ Blissful Acres.
“The sky was orange,” Alysa says, “and the sun looked dark red. We wore masks over our noses and mouths because of the smoke and ash in the air.”
Daniel, Steven, and Alysa packed their clothes and stuffed animals. Because it feared the fire, “one of our steers broke the chain on his halter and went under the fence,” Daniel says. “Rascal helped us get the steer back into the corral.”
When the Smiths had to evacuate, they had to leave the steers and chickens behind. “We raise the steers to sell and pay for our missions,” Steven says. “We were scared that everything would burn.”
Before they left, the Smiths knelt in family prayer. “We prayed for the Lord to bless us and our house and animals,” says Daniel, Steven, and Alysa’s dad, Jeff. “We had done all we could do and then left it in Heavenly Father’s hands.”
“We felt better after our prayer,” Steven says. “I felt the Spirit. Mom helped us feel calm, too.”
At 7:30 p.m. the Smiths got into their two cars and a truck to drive the 30 minutes to a friend’s house in the desert. “Rascal wouldn’t get in the car,” Alysa says. “Some of us were crying, and we were scared Rascal would die in the fire.”
The firefighters worked for four days to protect the town of Julian from the fire. One firefighter died. More than 700 houses burned in the hills around Julian, but the town was saved.
Though the roaring fire raced toward Smiths’ Blissful Acres, the firefighters stopped it two miles before it got there. When the Smiths came home on Saturday, they were so happy that the animals and the house were safe. But Rascal was still missing. Five days later, a man from the animal control center called and said Rascal was there.
“When my mom brought Rascal home, we all jumped on him and hugged him,” Daniel says. “We were so happy.”
During the weeks after the fire, Daniel, Steven, and Alysa helped at the disaster center in Julian. As people donated clothing and supplies, and others sorted the donations into boxes, the Smith children carried the boxes up or down the stairs to the assigned areas.
Since the fire, the Smiths are more grateful than ever for their family, home, and the Church. They express gratitude in their family prayers at the beginning and end of every day. After the prayer, the Smiths have a family tradition. They put their feet in the center of the family circle, pile their hands on top of each other’s hands, and say, “We love everybody.” Then they raise their arms and hands over their heads and shout, “We fly high!”—a reminder that with the gospel and each other, they can become better every day.
And Daniel, Steven, and Alysa do “fly high” because working and playing together makes them and their family strong.

Mom pushed the grocery cart up and down the aisles of the bishops’ storehouse while Mackenzie looked for her favorite cereal. All she could find were the boring kinds, like corn flakes and oatmeal. Where was the Sir Crunch-a-Lot? She sighed and pulled a bag of granola off the shelf and put it in the cart.
Mom said the bishops’ storehouse was the Church’s store, and it helped people like them who didn’t have a lot of money. Mackenzie didn’t understand. She knew Dad lost his job, but why did that mean she had to eat boring food?
Mackenzie followed her mom to the front of the store. Mom gave a slip of paper to the woman at the counter. Mom and the woman talked for a moment, and then Mom rolled their cart out to the car.
“Mom, why did you give her that paper instead of money?” Mackenzie asked.
Mom smiled. “You know we came here because we don’t have a lot of money right now, right?”
Mackenzie nodded and started putting groceries in the car.
“Well, when people at church pay their fast offerings every month, that money helps people who are having a tough time.”
“Like us,” Mackenzie said.
“Right,” said Mom. “Some of that money buys food for people who need it. Your dad and I visited with the bishop, and he told us we can shop here for a few months until Dad gets a job. That paper was a list of the things we need.”
Mackenzie raised her eyebrows. “So other people are paying for this food? That’s really nice of them. But why don’t they have better cereals?”
Mom laughed as they finished putting the groceries in the car. “Well, they might not have some of the things you love, but it’s good food. I’m really grateful for it because it means we won’t be hungry.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Mackenzie said. But she couldn’t help thinking of a big bowl of Sir Crunch-a-Lot.
The next day at school, Mackenzie stared at the ham sandwich and apple in her lunch bag. She frowned. Most of her friends were eating pizza from the cafeteria, and it smelled delicious!Then Sarah, her friend from church, sat down next to her. Mackenzie noticed that she didn’t have any lunch.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Mackenzie asked.
“My family is fasting for my uncle,” Sarah said. “He doesn’t have a job right now, so we’re praying for him.”
Mackenzie’s jaw dropped. “But it’s not even Fast Sunday!”
“Yeah, it’s pretty hard being hungry at school,” Sarah said. “But I wanted to fast with my family.”
Mackenzie remembered how Mom said fast offerings helped pay for their groceries. She thought of all the kind people who fasted on Fast Sunday and gave money to help her family have enough to eat.
Suddenly pizza didn’t seem so important, and neither did Sir Crunch-a-Lot. She said a silent prayer to thank Heavenly Father. Then she took a big bite of her sandwich. Gratitude made everything taste better.

Jamie stood outside looking around. No one was playing. She could hear the tap, tap, tapping of Uncle Ed’s hammer. Maybe I’ll go over and see what he’s doing, she thought.
Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth lived across the street. They weren’t really her aunt and uncle, just very special people who loved the neighborhood kids. They didn’t have any children of their own, so all the kids called them Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth.
Jamie knocked on Uncle Ed’s workshop door.
“Come in,” he hollered. “Hi, Jamie. Have you come over to help me?”
“What are you making?” she asked.
“Oh, I made a birdhouse. I’m just about ready to paint it, and I sure could use a helper.”
“I’d love to help,” said Jamie. They painted the birdhouse red and green.
“We did a good job,” said Uncle Ed. “Now we need a reward. Let’s go in and see if Aunt Ruth has some spare cookies.”
Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth’s house was a wonderful place. Jamie’s favorite thing in it was the curio cabinet in the living room. Sitting on the shelves were dolls that Aunt Ruth had collected since she was a little girl. They were all beautiful and different. On the top shelf was her most prized possession, a doll dressed in a white sailor suit. He had a china head, and his face was hand painted. With a friendly smile, he seemed to watch you wherever you were in the room. His name was Buddy, and Aunt Ruth’s own aunt had given him to her when she was eight years old. He was the beginning of her collection. All the dolls were special to her, but the most special was Buddy.
“Come in and have a cookie. I just took them out of the oven,” Aunt Ruth said.
“Jamie and I finished the birdhouse. Where do you want us to hang it?” Uncle Ed asked.
“Well, let me see. How about the elm tree?”
“Sounds good to me. Jamie and I will hang it up as soon as the paint has had time to dry. OK, Jamie?”
“Yes,” Jamie answered, crunching her cookie. “Sounds good to me too. Guess what? My birthday is on Thursday, and I’m getting baptized in my church on Saturday. Will you come to the baptism? My grandparents can’t come, and I’d love you to be there. Please?”
“We’d love to, Jamie,” Uncle Ed said. “We don’t go to church much. We really don’t belong to any church. Do you think it will be all right?”
“Of course,” Jamie responded. “It’s my special day. Mom said I could invite anyone I wanted, and I want you.”
Aunt Ruth smiled. “We’re honored, and we’ll be there. I’ll talk to your mother.”
Later, Jamie and Uncle Ed hung the birdhouse high in the elm tree.
The morning of Jamie’s birthday the sun shone brightly. Jamie hurried and dressed and ran downstairs. Everyone was waiting for her. Mom and Dad, her brothers—Mike and Tommy—and her sister, Christine.
“Happy birthday!” they yelled.
When she opened her presents, there were some clothes, a necklace from Christine, and a game from the boys. Grandma and Grandpa Ellis had sent her a set of scriptures with her name on the front in gold. Inside, Grandma had written a note:
Dear Jamie,
We are sorry that we can’t be with you on your special birthday. We are very proud of you and know that you will be a wonderful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Remember, the scriptures will be one of your most prized possessions. Read them often.
We love you,
Grandma and Grandpa
Jamie smiled when she read the note. That afternoon after school, Jamie put away her presents and thought about Saturday. It was going to be even more exciting than today. Her aunt and uncle and cousins would be there. Bishop Davis and her Primary teacher, Sister Naylor, would be there, too, with her CTR A class. And, of course, Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth were coming.
Jamie went downstairs where Christine was setting the table for her birthday dinner. The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” Mike hollered.
It was Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth. “We won’t stay long. We know it’s your dinnertime. We have a present for Jamie.” Aunt Ruth handed Jamie a large white box tied with a big pink bow.
“Ruthie’s been more excited about this than Jamie will be, I think,” Uncle Ed said.
Jamie untied the ribbon and carefully lifted off the lid.
“Hurry up!” Tommy squealed.
“I’m hurrying as fast as I can!” Jamie carefully took out several pieces of tissue paper. Nestled in the middle of the layers of tissue paper was Buddy, Aunt Ruth’s prized doll. “Oh, Aunt Ruth,” cried Jamie, “thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome, Jamie. I got Buddy when I was eight years old, and since there are no little girls in my family, I want you to have him. He’s my most prized possession—next to Uncle Ed,” Aunt Ruth said with a chuckle.
“Aunt Ruth, I promise I’ll take good care of him. Oh, this is the best birthday ever!”
Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth were invited to stay for dinner and for birthday cake, which made Jamie very happy. When they went home, she went upstairs to get ready for bed. She put Buddy on the shelf above her dresser, right next to her scriptures. My two prized possessions, she thought. As she lay in bed, the moonlight shone brightly through the window. She could see Buddy smiling at her. Then she noticed the light on her scriptures. The best idea popped into her head! She fell asleep wondering why she hadn’t thought of it before.
The next morning Jamie was up and dressed early. She ran downstairs with something in her hand. “I have to see Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth,” she told Mom. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Aunt Ruth was surprised to see Jamie so early in the morning.
“Aunt Ruth, last night you gave me one of your most prized possessions,” Jamie said. “This is one of mine.” Jamie handed Aunt Ruth the copy of the Book of Mormon she had received from Primary. “Please read it and then talk to my mom and dad about it. They can tell you how you can keep another one of your prized possessions—Uncle Ed—forever.” Jamie hurried down the walk, calling back, “See you at my baptism.”
Saturday afternoon Jamie and her parents waited anxiously at the church until they saw Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth come through the door.
“Hello, Jamie,” they said, giving her a hug. “We read your book all day yesterday and most of the night, and we’d like to talk to you and your folks about it soon.”
“We’d be very happy to talk to you about it,” Jamie’s dad said as he welcomed them.
“Your little Jamie’s quite a missionary,” said Uncle Ed.
After the baptism, Dad confirmed Jamie a member of the Church and gave her the gift of the Holy Ghost. A warm feeling came over her, and she knew that she had just received the most prized possession of all.

When Israel and Elizabeth Haven Barlow left Nauvoo, Illinois, for the Salt Lake Valley in 1848, they left behind a baby boy buried in a small Nauvoo cemetery. Little James Nathaniel Barlow, their first child, had died shortly after birth in May 1841.
Israel and Elizabeth likely never expected to gaze again upon their son’s grave. But when Israel was called on a mission to England a few years later, he passed through Nauvoo. At Elizabeth’s request, he stopped to locate their son’s grave and move it to the main cemetery.
After Israel found the grave, he saw that it was decayed and broken. In a letter to his wife, Israel wrote that he decided to leave the grave and return in the future.
He had not walked more than a few feet from the grave when he heard a voice in his mind say, “Daddy, do not leave me here.” Israel returned to the grave, concluding to move his little boy after all.
As Israel lingered at the graveside, he told Elizabeth, “I felt a desire to dedicate myself and all that I might call mine into the hands of the Lord that I might be counted worthy to come forth with [James] in the morning of the First Resurrection.”
Israel’s devotion to the gospel of Jesus Christ and honoring sacred covenants make eternal life—that grandest of all blessings—possible for him and bless his family—both ancestors and posterity.

Liam is learning to balance the things he needs and wants to do. He may be busy, but there’s one thing he makes time for every day—the gospel of Jesus Christ.

“I recently decided that I would read at least one chapter of the Book of Mormon—just one chapter—every single day,” Liam says. “It takes me maybe five minutes. But it gives me an extra boost, so I’m willing to take that challenge.”

Reading the scriptures every day has helped Liam more than he thought it would. “Sometimes when I have a bad day, reading something comforting can put me back on top again. But if it’s been a good day, it can also remind me to be grateful that things are going well. I’m glad I’ve been able to stick to my goal.”

Liam is busy with lots of hobbies and responsibilities. But making time every day to read the Book of Mormon has blessed his life.

My mother was born of Puerto Rican parents working in the sugar industry in La Romana, Dominican Republic in 1913. Both of her parents died in 1916 within months of one another when she was almost three years old. Puerto Rican neighbors raised her until she married and moved to Puerto Rico with her little family in 1930. My mother never found any paperwork on the birth or death of her parents or where they were buried. I felt this was my chance to do some digging and find what my mother could not find.
One Sunday we decided to visit a ward in La Romana. It happened to be Mother’s Day. I shared my story with the sisters in Relief Society with hopes that someone could help. A kind sister who happened to work in the civil registry of the town said she would research the archives for me. A few weeks later she said she could not find anything. An official registry was not kept, by law, until the 1930s. Some records were destroyed by floods or fire or just stored under poor conditions causing them to deteriorate. I gave her my sisters’ names and birth dates and the towns in which they were born. No records found. I was devastated. What do I do now?
With nowhere to turn I immersed myself in FamilySearch. I had found documentation on my grandmother in Puerto Rico before she left to La Romana in a census. I found a ship manifest that listed my grandmother traveling with a newborn (my mother) to Puerto Rico twice. The last time was within the year she had passed. I now knew the town she was from, my mother’s real birthday and who they visited. This was a real treasure. My mother was an orphan with no real information, and now I had a place to start.
Although I had not found what I was looking for, we took the time to visit all the places my mother talked about. I was able to get a feel for what life must have been like in the early days of the twentieth century living in a sugar cane industry town. This gave me renewed faith in continuing my search for more information.
As I continued to search further back through my grandparents’ lines, I found many wonderful treasures. I found that my family line in Puerto Rico dates to early explorers in the Caribbean. Some had served as governors in the Dominican Republic. Some were sea captains, farmers, and businessmen. Some were maids, seamstresses, and some of nobility. I was able to do the temple work for many there in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple where we volunteered as ordinance workers once a week. I was beginning to feel a closeness to my ancestors that I thought I would never experience. My excitement and joy in the work I was doing carried me through times of disappointments. I knew that if I kept looking, I would be able to find many more, and I did.
My time in the Dominican Republic was cut short because of the pandemic, but not before finding my family and learning more about my rich Caribbean roots. The tapestry of my family lines is rich with stories of courage and faith. At one time, I thought I would not be able to complete my four generations with temple work, at least not in this life. But now I have gone well beyond four generations. Elder and Sister Soares said in the last RootsTech that one purpose of temple work was to unite the past with the present and the future. I have felt this each time as my grandchildren enter the temple to do the work for these sweet people I never knew existed. I can honestly say I now know them and love them. They are my family.

Here at Church headquarters we hold many committee meetings, and early this year in one of those meetings, Elder Neal A. Maxwell was listening attentively to a presentation concerning the development of local leaders. Near the end of the meeting, Elder Maxwell asked, “Is there more that we can do to help bishops bring peace and healing to the Saints?” I was interested in knowing more of his concern, so just prior to his passing and in the privacy of his office, Elder Maxwell expanded on the doctrines associated with obtaining peace and healing. He gave encouragement to my sharing these remarks with Church members.
Elder Maxwell was and remains a wonderful example of selfless love. His concerns for others were bone deep, especially for those with physical and emotional pains. Walking out of his office, one could not help but be more committed to being Christlike. He set a standard for us all. He loved the Savior. He was indeed a true Apostle and disciple. We miss him.